To smithereens
by angel-ylliya
Summary: The magic world is a dead world. He had understood this a long time ago, ever since Potter was killed, and, therefore, the last hope to get rid of the dark mark went away with him. He is ready to do anything to become the master of his mind.
1. Chapter 1

The somber sky doesn't give an opportunity to see the sun for a few weeks already. After the death of Potter, the magic world fell into eternal mourning. It became difficult to see someone on the streets. A huge desert of sorrow. People refused to accept this news. Fear enveloped every house, every family. Fatal hopelessness of muggleborn families and those people, who had helped the boy, who couldn't survive once again, have swallowed the wizards. A friend is an enemy now. A casual passer is an enemy. A relative is a foreigner. To trust somebody seems real madness. Harried and desperate people have decided to hide, for the sake of their children, parents, future…  
News about murders of muggleborn wizards became ordinariness, it praised and printed on the first pages of newspapers. Brutal bullying discussed in pubs and on the streets. People stopped to opine. They didn't have the right to object or think otherwise (than they should)

Ginny woke up early. Going down to the kitchen, she saw her mother reading the newspaper. The girl instantly jumped to the table and snatched the "Daily Prophet" from her mothers' hands . After reading the headline, her eyes filled with tears, she closed her mouth with her palm, allowing the newspaper to fall out of sweaty hands. A huge headline:

"The magical world is getting better every day. The next dirty family was eliminated. Granger paid for Potter. "

Ginny had not seen Hermione for months, Granger had shared with her that she would return to the Muggle world and never use the magic again. Gryffindor girl broke her magic wand as soon as she learned of Harry's death, and the wizard inside her broke down with a wand. The girl did not tell anyone exactly where she was going and Ginny assured herself that Granger trusted her. But why did not she say anything? Now it was already unimportant. She sat down on the stool and took back the hateful newspaper, starting to run over such a vast text quickly, until she caught on another familiar name:

"Malfoy, Jr. is the personification of a new life. The accomplice of the Dark Lord himself saves our world from an infection which was carried by fools. Once he studied at the same school as Hermione Granger. We can imagine how much he was waiting for the moment to save the world from her and her like. Glory to the Dark Lord. "

Ginny squeezed the newspaper, tears became difficult to control. She vowed not to cry after Harry's death, but it happens anyway.

Impossible emptiness makes him remain chained to a chair and drink his firewhisky. He has been sitting for several hours, the waitress tried to pass by his table as little as possible. The blond's gaze does not pay attention to anyone, his eyes are empty - ice inserts. The girl is covered with shivers of panic when his look touches her back, and then falls back onto the glass. He does not care.  
Sip by sip. Everything burns inside and he has not eaten anything for several days, it seems, he simply forgot that food is an essential element, allowing at least for a short while to feel like something alive. The burning was not at all from drinking, the last thing that did not turn into ice was a clearly beating heart that did not want to give up. What is it? Self-pity? SELF-PITY?! Damn thoughts, your crappy head, Malfoy. The guy rubbed the bridge of his nose, expecting that this is how you can turn off the mechanism called "think." The glass was empty again.  
If he could change everything, would he? No. His faithful companion is a rational mind, today it is not that rational. What does he want from himself, why is he sitting here like he owes something to someone?!

Covering his eyes, he makes three quiet breaths: one, her silhouette re-absorbed into his vision; two, the glass is compressed with cold fingers; three, a woman's cry makes the heart freeze. This is already knocking out of balance, and the glass flies into the wall. The waitress, crying out, barely has time to bounce off the next table, and the coffee tray lands on the floor, to smithereens. Like him now, it splits into a thousand particles, smithereens ... so symbolic.

The room is dull and very cool, she shakes. She doubts that it's from a cold. In the head she has a picture of her home: a sunny morning, which was the last one. Mom prepares breakfast, the father reads the newspaper and slowly switches channels. She is in the bathroom, puts her hair to go to work. A new life is quite to her liking. Doorbell. She hears her father mutters something, turns off the sound of the TV and goes to meet uninvited guests. A moment, and the girl is ready to jump out of the bathroom. She is sure, this is her friend came to give her a ride to work. Smile does not come off the face.

A step, one more step. The ladder is too long, and the heels are so uncomfortable. Turning to the hallway, she sees her father steps aside and shields her mother. Inside, something jumped, Hermione looked at the door and squinted from the sun. In the doorway was absolutely familiar and so disgusting Malfoy. For a moment it seemed that he was surprised, but soon the look became as prickly as ever. The girl looked at his wand, and then back in the face. It was the end. A thought flashed through her mind to fall to her knees in front of him and beg, beg, be humiliated. But it was too late.

The last thing that was deposited in memory is quick steps in her direction, a hard blow to the solar plexus, and mother's cry.

She did not see their death, did not see what else Malfoy did, but she understood everything without it. Her heart contracted, and her eyes can see only darkness. The stupid armband pulled her hair and prevented her from recognizing the location. Hands are tied with a strong rope, it seems she's been here a long time. The body was traitorously numb and did not want to obey. The girl involuntarily caught herself thinking of complete regret that she was still alive. Kill her Malfoy, she would not have time to understand anything, feel that now there will never be happiness. Such as this sunny morning, nothing of ill omen was apparent.


	2. Chapter 2

I hope you can enjoy this story, sorry if you find some mistakes, English is not my native language, but I promise I will try to do my best)

Day or night, she has already lost track of time. Silence destroyed her heart, her head, her thoughts, like poison, pouring into her ears.

Bones ached from the coldness and lack of movement. The only hope is that they did not forget about her and will soon return to finish her off.

Ran out of tears, the voice was hoarse. Only a shiver piercing the body. She was terribly thirsty. The girl tried to remove the rope. Useless occupation lasted several hours, until she was interrupted by some noise at the top. She harbored the hope that it was not rats. Maybe she was finally remembered? Hermione arched her back and threw her head back to the ceiling. How stupid, Granger thought, more and more hating the blindfold.  
The move intensified, with resolute and rapid steps. The door opened with a terrible creak, slammed with the same accompaniment, with two turns of the key.

The steps became quieter, and someone slowly approached her from behind. She felt the look on her body. Uncertainty frightened. The hope of death seemed crazy, but the only right one.

"Tell me your name," the whisper resonated in her ears. The girl shuddered in surprise, and felt uncomfortable. What the heck! How can you kidnap a person and do not even bother to understand who it is!

"Where's Malfoy?" - she tried to put as much confidence and calmness in her question as she could, although she continued to be sulky. Perhaps the interlocutor did not hear it at all.

Believing that the man did not notice blood on her wrists, Hermione pressed her hands to her, and her fingers trembled and ceased to obey.

" Tell me your name, " - a dry answer, not at all about her question.

The girl hesitated:

" Hermione Granger. Are you ... " - Her speech was cut by the kick on the leg of the chair. A little more and she would have fallen along with this hateful iron prisoner, but someone's hand picked up abruptly and put the stool back in place.

"I ask questions, you answer! " - The man moved around the room, she heard every rustle; most wishing that he was as far away from her. She did not want to oppose him.

"Why did you escape from our world?" Disgust was felt in an overabundance. Now the voice seemed familiar, painfully reminiscent of someone.

"Because wanted to protect my parents, from such bastards like you ..." She spoke as quietly, although she almost cried inside. Fucking hoarse!

The footsteps subsided, it became creepy. Again the same silence from which she wanted to escape. There was an indignation in the air and a dumb question, twisting in the head. For what? This room is so small, it is overwhelmed by the despair of one and the hopelessness of the other.

"I'm thirsty,"

In response, silence again and no movement. For a second, it seemed to her that the parquet board had creaked, but then again nothing. And it did not last for several minutes. Then Hermione felt a breath near her ear, which made the body cringe. The girl was afraid to move and even breathe.

"Do you know who was in this room before you?" - Hot exhalation burned the skin near the ear. The coldness of the room no longer seemed so disgusting as this.

" Rats? "

" I will remind you. " - She felt a hand on her shoulder.

" Do not. " - Her shoulder tried to throw an unwanted palm, but in vain.

" A worthless charity case. Redhead stupid loser. It seems the best friend of a dead Potter. More precisely," - he has obviously reflected, selecting words. "The dead friend of the dead Potter."

A man's laughter struck her like a spell, and what she heard made her break, as she thought, the dried source of tears. She recognized this voice, understood who was behind her. Hermione realized that she had lost another friend.

"Is that all you can do, Granger?" Tears? You really are joking. The Muggle world made you a submissive bitch." - He grabbed her hair and sharply pulled her head back so that the chair almost fell on him.

"It hurts," a low scream drowned in her hoarse throat.  
"Do you know what your beloved Weasley said, who might have been sitting in the same chair?" Malfoy spoke clearly. "The moron hoped that Granger would not escape, like the last rat. That Granger will enter the very door I entered. What she will save him, because he was YOUR FRIEND. Is this not true?" His whisper crept into her head, covering everything inside, like smoke. Only then did Hermione feel how selfish she had acted, escaping into her world, leaving friends alone here, fighting Harry's death, fighting for her life. The girl greedily began to swallow the air, choking in tears.

" For what? " She turned her head in his direction. Sharp. He almost recoiled, but forced himself to breathe with her one air. Her face was terribly pale, a black bandage covering her eyes, tightening her temples, must have hurt her.

"You wanted a drink, Granger?" He did not answer the question, as he promised. Only touched her pale cheek and wiped her tears, squeamishly touching her dry lips with moist fingers. He immediately wanted to wash his hand.

The blond turned and went to the door. He could not stay in this disgusting room for a long time. And the interlocutor was not herself. What does he want from her? The Devil's Waterfall-Granger. It was necessary to kill her immediately. A wretched idiot.

" Kill me!" Hermione did not understand why she had the strength to shout so loudly. The echo rang out across the room and hit Malfoy like snow in July. He remained standing in the doorway, as if his feet had grown into a parquet.

"Granger, are you out of your mind?"

"Malfoy, please," pleading. Affectively pleading. From her lips the surname seemed wrong, contrary even to himself. Does she read minds? Rave.

"I'll come tomorrow.I'll bring some water. Probably" - nothing expressive, empty and calm voice.

The door closed, and Hermione's hope slammed with it. She was not going to be killed. She is in Malfoy's hands, a bird in a cage that has never been poisoned.

"Malfoy, I hate you!" - The last screams were given to her with great difficulty, and Hermione started to cough, it became hard to breathe. Dryness grabbed her throat and wanted to finish her off. "Good night, Granger." And silence, again the fucking silence, which again came to her, as a true friend, intending to brighten up her loneliness.

Perhaps the same thing Ron heard. The last thing he heard in his life ... She imagined his face, eyes, could even swear that he heard him say her name. And the chair fell on the floor, trying harder to hit the floor. More than she did to her friends.

\\\\\  
He did not like this house. Gift of the Dark Lord for "brilliant" work. Malfoy always dreamed of burning him and looking at the flames for hours, until the ashes rose in the air with an impenetrable fog. He would have done so, but there was nowhere else to live. Malfoy-Manor seemed damned. Ever since he began to remind him of his parents and his past normal life. Was it normal? He is not sure of anything.

Sleep had not touched his eyes for two days. It became difficult to think.

Draco took off his black turtleneck, permeated with the taste of blood. The smell that settled on it after another trip to the city. The scent of death will accompany him to the end of life, it remains only to get used to the idea that you are a murderer, that your body is forever mired in this word. He can not escape. Do not hide from the components of the volleys of rain, which has not stopped for several weeks, and blood, so persistently dirty, skillfully spoiling each time his things. Still these tears, hateful female tears.

The bathroom proved to be a salvation, he washed his eyes off, screams, dead silence. Thoughts brought him back to the dead. The truth is not for long. The next day there were new victims, but it was after the deed several hours ago that they seemed to stand next to him, hoping to flood him with acid from the tap.

He leaned his hands against the wall, allowing the water to wash all prejudices from his exhausted body. Thoughts about wrong actions knocked in temples, water here can not help. He wanted to open the skull and wash the brain.


	3. Chapter 3

Good night was worth its _weight_ in gold, anyone is ready to give a year of life for it. In addition, confidence that you will live at least a month, was frighteningly dubious. He needs to defuse, and the forces were too little - a paradox. It remains only to lie on the floor, arms outstretched to the side. Someone can think that this is a damn uncomfortable place to rest. But he forgot what a dream looks like. It was a mythical character who never wanted to communicate with him.

The moon lit up his face, as if cheering and making it clear that he was not alone. The light of the night replaced the sun, which the magical world had not seen for a long time. Get it lost and there will be no desire in people to raise their eyes to the sky. He was obviously not indifferent to the moon. Well, he loved it.

It was cold on the floor, the back rested against a hard stone. A sobering sensation, he liked it. He thinks about Granger in a room where she also lies soullessly. He was sure she was sleeping. He tried to listen to the silence below, wanting to give to insomnia a new victim, as well as all those who are thousands of kilometers away. It only fair.  
Dead silence falls on the house and then he heard the rustling. Hence, it is not he alone who is struggling with the damned wakefulness, a corner of his lips involuntarily twitching in a smile.

Malfoy abruptly rose to his feet and walked barefoot _on the cold floor_ to the end of the room and back, his feet felt chilling delight. Going downstairs meant giving out his presence. He wanted Granger to feel lonely, abandoned, thrown away, unnecessary. Perhaps this will help to knock her off balance, then she will speak. But then he will achieve his goals, open her as a tin can, shake out the contents and finish it. As the lady asks. Breathtaking helpfulness. The plan was excellent, he had always dreamed about it from the first year of school.

The fact that Mudblood is in his house, did not give him rest. She should have been dead for a long time and rotting peacefully with her family, as the whole magical world thinks, as the Lord thinks. To leave her alive in his apartment as to commit suicide. If Voldemort finds out ... Draco briefly introduced his enraged face, his eyes throwing lightning bolts, this made him exult. But then the picture was replaced by its own dead face with the silent eyes of the dead man. But death was clearly not in his plans. Not today.

The girl woke up from piercing pain, apparently when she fell and cracked her head so badly. Exactly as she wanted, sly revenge. It is a pity that the head is not split, but it hurts as if in reverse. She tried to move, a terrible chill gripped her body. It was unpleasant to lie on the floor, the squeak of rats came from the underground, it seemed that they could find their dinner in the form of her, so ridiculously lying and tied to a chair. It seems that someone touched the finger, she screamed and tried to crawl away.

"You're so pathetic, Granger ..." anything, but she doesn't expect self-criticism from herself. Reprimand cannot help her at all.

The door opened reluctantly. He listened to what was happening on the other side, a female voice came to him.

Kooky Granger is already more interesting. A mockery appeared on his face.

After opening the door, he hesitated for a few seconds, enter or not. The rational mind asked him to return back, but the Mudblood, lying on the floor helplessly, was visible in the open door. Curiosity got the better of him and, clutching at the collar of his shirt, literally dragged him into the room against his will.

"Will you introduce me to your friend, crazy?" - He looked around the room: he liked the girl who was lying on the floor definitely more than the version of their last meeting. Malfoy took a couple of steps to pick her up and he met the rat eyes, which grinded and didn't want to give up the dinner. Bare feet stood in something viscous, he could swear it was ...

"Bloody hell, Granger!" - the guy reluctantly picked up a chair and began to peer into her bandage, hoping to burn her eyes through the black fabric. It seems, the girl chose a tactic that only she understood - stupid silence. His eyes slid over her pale face, her body, until his eyes caught on the bloodstains that disfigured an already tasteless beige dress. Only the blind could not notice the source of the hemorrhage: an open fracture of the arm simply shouted about itself.

What was in her head, even if she lost her freedom of action, that she could do this with her body. Thoughts, like a pendulum, swayed back and forth, taking with them a picture of what was happening and, stopping abruptly, hit him in the head. He just got into a mudblood poison. Even being in his own home, he again felt this smell. The abomination that so carefully washes away every night. The blond slowly turned his gaze to his legs, his face twisted in a grimace of utter disgust.  
"You're fucking bitch" - spits it in the face, hoping that every word will burn as hot metal. He would gladly break her bone by bone every time, but not today. Asshole benefactor.

The room has a smell, her smell. He wanted to get back. He cursed himself for coming down here. Three times. In a minute. To treat her was the very hemorrhoids idea that had ever occurred to him. The guy put a lot of effort to take her wrist with his fingertips, barely touching. Assuring himself: it's easier to kiss a dementor. Passionately. For one hour.

He studied the wound, and the wand did all the work for him.

"Ferula," spat one word with great difficulty, it seems, it lasted forever. He quickly removed his fingers from her hand, as if he had got burned by a hot candle. He himself did not understand how he was five steps away from her, but he did not look away.

/  
Hermione promised herself to close her mouth, no matter how provoked he was. When the sensation of cold fingers pierced stronger than pain, the burning skin felt a certain saving balm in this touch. Why did he come to her now rightful habitat? And what would happen if he didn't come? I do not need anything from him, go to hell! Thought storm. She tried to shut them up just as she could shut herself up, for several minutes now, while the guy was next to her.

What for? Want to help? Of course, wait, Granger. Now he will cure your hand so that you do not mess with the cleaned parquet, and then throw back to the rats. She felt that the unwelcome guest had departed, and lowered her head again, touching her chest with her chin. She still felt his fingers on her skin, it's still fresh in the memory. She was bursting with renewed anger, but not a single word while he was here. Scum-Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning began unexpectedly nice, old friends come rarely. Given that this is generally one person who is expected here and who is always welcome. Zabini didn't look the same as from their last meeting: a tired look, a haggard face, sunken cheeks, his swarthy face seemed gloomier than usual. Do not be outwardly so different, he is sure, put their souls nearby, they are an exact copy of each other. The whole week won't be enough to catch up with each other. How bad Draco missed him.

Malfoy was trying to show that he is quite all right, perhaps even scared a friend away from him. Zabini was hoping for the usual sincere conversation, because frankly, he no longer had anyone to share all the internal sufferings that didn't give him the rest. But it seems that he is not the only one who wants to share something. Bursting silence was not long enough.

"You look terrible, Malfoy."

"Thank you. I wanted to tell you the same thing"- he tried to squeeze a smile.  
"Why did you call? After our last meeting, I was recovering from the headache for a day, no less, Malfoy, If we carry on drinking like that, we... " - the outpouring of the soul was interrupted with a raised hand, meaning that he is not the one doing talking.

"Want to have some fun? "

"What do you mean?..." He looked into the blond's eyes, hoping to find an answer in them.

"Yesterday night I spent time in the company,"- Malfoy wondered how to properly submit information that the listener would hardly like. - "Guess a riddle. Potter's shabby know-it-all, who shamefully escaped to others of her kind" - he finished it and casually glanced around the ceiling of the room in search of sanity.

"You ... "- the only thing that Zabini could squeeze out of himself, it seems that his heart beat with a crazy rhythm.

"I? You think I'm Potter's whore? Enchanting. Here, without options, a simple, feminine, Muggle, disgusting name. "

"Granger," the guy said in a whisper, as if the walls were now spreading the news throughout the magical world.

"She's the one. Still alive, Gryffindor bitch. I got her there," - he stared at the floor. His voice was so calm that Blaise wanted to beat him up. Apparently, Draco does not understand what he is doing, does not understand that it cannot be said even to the closest ones, if only for the sake of their good. It is dangerous.

"You are fuckin' asshole, Malfoy! Why do you need to have weight of the world on your shoulders "- the guy visibly picked up the words to argue, to convince. His hopelessness reflected on a disappointed face.

"I want to end this ... all of this. Zabini, don't you get sick of that your life is in the hands of some kind of neurasthenic who puts you like a stick on a board? I don't care what happens when he finds out. I want to belong to myself, I am not a pawn in his fucking-exciting game,"- he spoke so impressively that he did not believe his voice, his breath caught. - "For this, here is this mudblood bitch, who owns the necessary information." - Each word was given with difficulty, right now it opens itself to a man who, fifteen minutes ago, turned into ashes the family of traitors literally two blocks from his house. So wanted to trust someone. He's still a friend.  
Zabini silently looked at his friend, carefully looked at his shoes, considering the information in his mind, as if looking at it from all sides. Both wanted to say everything that was spinning on the tip of the tongue, but for some reason they were silent.

"Do not make yourself an undertaker," the blond finally decided to break the silence.

"Eh? "

"This look. You just measured which coffin is right for me after you tell Voldemort everything."

Zabini was taken aback, did he really think ...

Their eyes met, Malfoy was calm and Zabini was irritated by his friend cold attitude to everything. Where is that explosive boy?

"How could you think? You know, whatever happens, I'm ready to help. I still have no families left, what about I should care?"

There's resignation in the air. And really, for what they fight? Mother Zabini was destroyed as an unnecessary thing. Malfoy remembered the day when his friend was forcibly brought in and thrown in front of his mother, who was terribly crippled. The lord promised to let her go if he finally accepts the mark. Otherwise, their family will die out. Voldemort was deceiving, Malfoy knew this and said nothing. He stood, looked at his friend and waited. As the last carrion, not deserving to Blaze even talked to him.

"So you will not report?" - In the voice appeared a note of doubt, which he immediately suppressed in himself, carefully peering into the dark eyes of the interlocutor.

"I will not report." - An awkward, it seems, inappropriate smile appeared on her face.

Outside the window it was dark, the large room was filled with regrettable gray light. The moon was in no hurry to save this time, only a small crescent, the light of which was enough except for a distance of one meter. Zabini left, promising to come back next week. He understood that a friend is now not in the most colloquially capable state. Blaise never learned to cope with the aftertaste of the murder, everything was hard for him. He was amazed how Malfoy could forget which family he killed, the fifteenth or twenty-fifth. And he, in turn, tried not to ask unnecessary questions. Compassion was unpleasant for both of them. Easier to be silent.

He remembered compassion when he glanced at the glass of water on the bedside table. The stupid elf left him here. He promised to bring her water, forbade the little house to help her, only to wash off the blood and process her wrists. You cannot do this.

Granger quite comfortably settled while I risk everything, for the sake of her unnecessary heartbeat. With this thought, he took the glass in his hands and took a big, greedy sip, although he did not want to drink at all.

Sees Merlin, he descended for five minutes, barring the desire to turn around and leave each time getting up on the step.

Another minute went on not to break the glass on her head when she turned her face away, feeling his presence.

Why not to entrust it to houselves? Lowering the glass, he rested his palm on her knee, again in search of a look behind an impenetrable black bandage. The girl abruptly turned away, moving nervously on the chair.

How dare she! He grabbed her chin and forcibly turned her face towards him. Thin, pale, with no trace of yesterday's dirty blood. So much better.

Then he took a glass of water and pressed it to Granger's lips, throwing back his recalcitrant head a little higher. She squeezed her lips, tried to pull her chin out of her rough fingers, but choked on water. The glass fell to the floor, splashing the trousers.

Draco hid his hands in his pockets, restraining his impulse to make a battered, insensitive doll out of a weakened body. He picked up a glass and put it on a lonely chest of drawers in the very corner of the room.

"Malfoy, is that you?"

Her voice hung in the air and pricked right under the skin the biggest needle. Now he decided to play in silence. There was no desire to say something, for some reason Draco did not hurry to leave.

"Let me go, Malfoy. I know that no one will come here except for you, it sounded frightening, doomed. Even he felt uneasy, he had to stop in front of the chair and carefully look at the person who so cleverly states the facts. - I asked to give the opportunity to go to your parents, you said nothing. I ask you to let me go back home, you are silent again. What do you need?" - voice trembled, but she picked up every word, afraid to say the wrong thing. There was a feeling that she appeals to an insane person who himself does not know what he needs.

Draco sat down on the floor, leaning against a rough wall, contemplating his object called "conscience." She thought for a moment that there was no one in the room at all. She frantically turned her head in a gesture of disagreement and dropped it again.

Malfoy's mind threw up colorful pictures of Granger's house: broken mirrors and a fallen chandelier right on the body of her father. The frozen, dead-blooded face of a mud-blooded mother, expressing horror and regret. Gryffindor lying by the stairs. He did not know that he would go to their family, it was just a specific address. Names do not need to know, this is superfluous. Let this to Zabini. He had long ceased to write down who and when he would have to kill. But the last thing he wanted was to go to this house, to a girl who, all his young age, flashed before him with Potter, who had given everyone hope. And then this hope was crushed. She ran away without giving him a chance to try his luck and save himself.

Last hope lurked in the Mudblood. Malfoy postponed their meeting, every time he found excuses that he did not want to visit the Muggle world. No matter how dirty and ridiculous the world has become magical.

But that morning turned everything around as soon as their eyes met, as soon as he crossed the threshold of this house, which he had been afraid of so many months to enter. It all came together, it is no coincidence.

"You're not ready to talk yet, Granger." It's not time yet, - in a quiet voice he spoke against his will, watching how scared the girl was. He did not remember how many minutes or hours he sat silently, staring at the parquet.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione was no longer alone all the time. The house elf Henry visited her every morning. They even managed to say a couple of phrases to each other. But no matter how he wanted to talk to the girl, the master's prohibition kept him from this.

"Just feed her, I need her not to die from hunger. Nothing more, do you fathom?"

Every time when Henry heard questions from Hermione, the master's phrase popped up in his head, and that helped him to keep his mouth shut.

Malfoy was not at home for several days, all this time the house elf diligently performed his duties, but the girl categorically refused from any type of food. Henry watched as the girl became weaker with every day, reproached himself for not being able to fulfill his obligation to Malfoy and constantly grieved, complaining to Hermione. The prisoner sympathized with him because he had such an absurd master, but her rebelliousness grew every day, and her weakened body was an intoxicating hope of death.

She isn't going to make it much longer. Most likely, she will gradually die from exhaustion. And the poor elf can't tolerate that: he would kill himself directly with her soup spoon. But Malfoy was suddenly back. Tired, dissatisfied, with a burden of consequences on his shoulders. Work captured him for two hopeless days, now even a shower cannot wash away everything.

He again wanted to use the diary, to write a few lines about how the lack of heart frightens more and more.

He killed a young couple that he had seen at Hogwarts several times; it was difficult not to remember them. They recognized him absolutely for sure. The famous shit Malfoy. Even the hand did not flinch. Everything seemed so ordinary and simple, how to break a broomstick and throw it in the corner of the room, forgetting.

In the apartment of the dead there were about a dozen of collective drawings adorning the walls. He liked to explore the rooms of his victims. To look at their warm past, to find out what it is like to be loved and be happy. Such unfamiliar and strange feelings that it seemed to him he could touch them and live a little of their lives.

He froze seeing the photo with a hugging couple, whose eyes glowed with happiness and something else, so alien to him. Involuntarily, he had to touch the frame and turn it over. He should scratch off this image out the head. Even at such times, people found the strength to hope for the future and make plans. This is too stupid.

Glancing over the dead bodies and already about to leave, he noticed a wardrobe, the door of which gripped a piece of cloth. Something pulled him to come up and open it, fix it. His damn perfectionism sometimes annoyed him, but this time turned out to be very useful. From an open closet, he saw shelves with different dresses and various clothes.

He grabbed the first black dress he came across. Draco can't shake the feeling that Granger is a burden for a few more weeks. In addition, the mistress of the house is hardly needed this anymore. Carefully he closed the closet and left the apartment.

Walking past the next house, he felt himself being watched. Someone was watching him intently and when frightened eyes of the stranger met with his cold ones, Draco smiled wryly, nodding politely. The man outside the window disappeared and the curtains closed tightly.

Soon people will not be able to walk with him on the same street, he is an abomination that should be wiped out.

It's already dark. The sight of his gloomy house did not deceive him. Entering the room where it was colder than on the street, the house elf immediately greeted Draco, showing by his appearance that he was waiting for Malfoy and was extremely happy to tell him everything about his task.

The last thing he wanted to hear was news about mudblood. But Henry almost immediately grabbed his leg and began to shed tears about the fact that the girl is very weak, and he is incapable, the smallest of the elves, so summed up his master.

Despite a long ignorance of something clinging to his leg, he reached a chair, threw a damp black coat at it, and only then gazed at elf and swore.

The presence of Granger in the house seemed the most incorrigible mistake, he has the desire to sweep this problem under the carpet and not to think that it exists. If he didn't come today, but tomorrow, then one could catch the already dead body.

Asking to bring food to her, the guy said that he would go downstairs himself, to which Henry happily ran to the girl, thanks to everyone in the world for such a benevolent master, who five minutes ago had tried to throw him off his foot in the direction of the burning fireplace.

Out of habit, Hermione refused to eat, knowingly having heard the house elf swarming. She wanted to ask if Sir Malfoy would deign to condescend to her and see if she died here, but stopped abruptly when she heard someone's third steps in the room. With full confidence that a person is standing right in front of her and this someone deliberately slowly poured pumpkin juice right on her dress. And then he slowly walked around and walked out, slamming the door. The feeling was not pleasant, she was trying to understand Malfoy it was or not.

"If the lady does not eat, I'm afraid the master next time will not be limited to pumpkin juice."- He tried to wipe the girl's legs with a napkin.

So, still Malfoy.

"Untie my hands, I want to hold a spoon on my own."

"Then the master will be displeased." Henry can't upset him.

Hermione sat back in her chair and reluctantly agreed that she would drink a glass of water today and maybe even try the cake, just for the promise to talk to Malfoy: ask him to go down to her. Henry agreed and put a glass to the girl's lips with an involuntary smile.

Malfoy was warming up by the fireplace, watching the fire was the most enjoyable thing. The elf slowly approached him and, with a polite bow, moved his lips silently..

"Should I learn sign language to talk to you?"

"Sir!"

Henry made several hesitant steps in his direction and stopped, blocking the soothing fireplace.

"Faster,"

"Miss Granger, sir, has asked you to come down." She wants to have a conversation with you.

Elf said the end of the phrase, already hiding behind the back of the chair, looking incredulously from behind it at his master.

"Fuck off. "

The guy got up and went to his bedroom, scrolling through what he heard. She wants to have a conversation with me. Conversation?! Unprecedented, she apparently forgot where she is.

He stumbled on the stairs and almost flew down, clutching his hand on the railing, standing in that position for a few seconds, and then sat down completely on the step, his forehead in his palm.

He always entered this room in a special way, reluctantly. It was difficult to lie to himself that he liked the whole situation.

Again her back ... The spine peeks through the fabric of the dress, so fragile, it seems, it can be broken in half with one strong push. Her tangled hair, especially annoyed him all his childhood.

"What did you want?" - tired voice, through dry lips. In response, silence.

This is not a room, it is a chamber for the mentally ill.

His hands gently removed the girl's long, naughty hair to the side. Hermione thought that cold fingers touched her neck, her body was covered with unpleasant goosebumps. But then such hated icy hands slowly began to untie the black cloth, and the bandage felt to her knees, freeing her eyes. Light burning right through her eyes. It feels like she has been blind, but only now beginning to see. The first thing that the eye focused on is its dirty dress and pale knees. She turned her neck and, squinting, tried to look at Malfoy.

"Today I will show you my unprecedented generosity."

She did not have time to understand how her hands became free, but still there was a fear of bending them, so hands remained behind her back.

"Thank you ..." - out of place the spoken word. Politeness is now generally should be forgotten. "Finally I can look into your ugly face, Malfoy." If I had my magic wand, I'd done you on the spot! Coward.

He had to make an enormous effort to portray his own deafness and to speak of something completely different.

"I brought something to you," he handed a black cloth bundle,looking into her eyes with a steady gaze.

"What is it?"

She was interested, but she didn't stretch out her arms, any thing from Malfoy's hands seems damned. The lace fabric was visible in the package, probably it was some kind of clothing.

"Do not make me angry Granger, I'm too tired today."

He wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible. He had to grab her wrist. When the skin turned pale under his onslaught, he realized that he had not calculated the strength, but his fingers did not weaken. A little more and her hand will definitely break. Perfect.

"Let go!" - she tries to wrest her hand and not scream in pain. The wrist became numb and the fingers unclench. After a second, the black bundle appears in them, and Malfoy sharply loosens his grip, hiding his hands in his trouser pockets.

"What is it?"- The bundle had to be unfolded. Beautiful lace pierced pitch black fabric.

"What does it look like?" - he is closely watching her reaction. "Put it on," and slowly looks away to the window, looking at the empty street.

"I will not take anything from your hands."

"It seems to me that you are already holding it," he gritted his teeth tightly, it seems that he regretted to bring it with him. What for?

You could ask yourself this question for a long time, but at the same second the dress flew into his face and felt to the floor. Looks like it will explode now.

"Now listen here! I don't give a shit about what you will walk in and if you can walk at all! But while I have to endure you, be good, put this garbage on yourself. Now!"- the last word broke a half-cry, it must have been heard by neighboring houses.

The girl slowly moved to the door and, putting her hand behind her back, tried to pull the handle. The last thing he wanted was for him to notice her fear.

"I' even wonder, Granger, what were you counting on now?"

In two steps, he was near the same door. She had never allowed Malfoy so close, never in her life. He scared her, forcing to squeeze into the door, merge with it and then disappear. He put his hand on top of her fingers and rolled the door handle.

"Well, apparently, someone closed the door ..." he said mockingly and looked closely at the reaction, fatigue subsided. That's what he needed for detente.

The girl tried to pull her fingers out from under someone else's hand and pressed her hand to her, as if she had been burned with fire, and her skin needs urgent healing. She caught his eye and nod toward the dress.

"If you don't wear it now, I'll strangle you with it."

"I agree," she stared, fascinated at the black fabric lit by moonlight.

"I'll strangle you, and then find, for example, someone from Weasley. Just for you to have your dead company. You know, there are too many of them, it irritates me,"- the unhealthy shine in his eyes made her feel cold inside. She did not answer, for some reason his words had to be believed.

The trembling hands reluctantly took the black dress and shook it so that the crumpled fabric took its shape. It was amazing. Gentle, thin fabric, decorated with laces, hem and everything else was ominously black. It seems, she had never seen such a dark color.

"Turn away."

"Bloody hell, do you think I will see something, what can make me blind?"

She looked at him protestingly, in this look was something from that school Granger, the girl whom, obviously, they both had already managed to forget.

"Okay. Maybe you're right. Can become blind from ugliness,"- he turned away. She hastily removed her beige dress, which smelled of pumpkin juice and all the horror that had piled on these days. Her black lingerie fits in perfectly with the new dress. She slowly put on one sleeve, then the other, and smoothed the folds on the hem. Hermione never paid much attention to things, even for a moment regretting it. Perhaps it is for the best that such a beautiful dress will be her last in life.

Staring at Malfoy's back, she just remembered thousands of curses in her head, and could only hope for some to hit him. Granger did not want to say that she was ready, the zipper did not obey, and her hair got entangled in it. Everything is not so simple with this dress.

But while she was trying to cope with the zipper, the guy turned slowly and for a few seconds glanced at her like a snake on the hot sand. People looked at her with admiration, envy, love, but never like this.

With his own eyes, he said that he would help, she with one glance sent him far away. But Malfoy would not be Malfoy, listening to every ridiculous, almost undressed woman.

"Do not come,"- legs wanted to run, the soul wanted to scream, but the closed room turned out to be an impenetrable cage.

Malfoy grabbed her shoulders and abruptly turned his back to him, the girl managed only to scream, this was so much indignation and protest.

For a few seconds he silently looked at the same spine, which he peeked at only after entering the room. The runner slowly stretched up, slamming its possessor into captivity of beautiful lace. Apparently, he fastened it longer than necessary, hoping that he was wrong about it.

Malfoy knew the dress was not a concern for Mudblood clothes. He reassured himself that all whores look good in black. It was good especially on her, especially today. There was no such thing with the robe, he would have noticed. Now she is trapped, you can do everything as planned.  
The girl nervously tried to fix her tangled hair, smooth, braid, remove, pull out ... anything, while he was silent. She had just allowed someone who could stick a knife into her heart at any opportunity to stand at her back.

"You know, Granger," he first broke the silence, defiantly and confidently pushing that out of his thoughts.

All the way home, he was thinking how to tell her where he got this dress from, imagined her reaction. Only for the sake of it he freed her from the rope. But now he lost his train of thought and began to improvise.

"Do you like this dress?"

"No."

"You do not like black?"

"No."

"Then take it off and go naked," he chuckled and walked away from her, putting his hand to his chin and pondering what if she agreed.

"Go to hell, ferret!" Ferret. He had already forgotten his school nickname, an unpleasant feeling flooded him.

"Do you know whose dress this is?"- The look was directed to the black hem, went down a little lower and lingered on her legs. "I think this is the best gift for you, Granger. The mistress would not have regretted him for sure; looks better on you, anyway."

"Malfoy, if you intend to make compliments, then the funny thing is that you steal women's dresses. I thought so, Voldemort could not trust you with something more important!" - She squeezed the hem of the dress with both hands and crumpled cloth with wet fingers.

"And you will be surprised, brainless," his calmness cracked. "But his mistress will not need it anymore: the dead do not change their clothes."

Instant silence reigned in the room, which was filled with an argument and anxious wrath a second ago. Hermione's fingers reached out to unzip the zipper, but again without success. It has exactly grown to her like a second skin. In her eyes one could read horror, disgust, anger. And all she could do was try to tear the black fabric, pull it off, tear it off. Anything, just remove from his eyes the evidence of another victim at the hands of this bastard.

"You like it even more now, right?" - the mockery in a voice like poison

"I hate you, Malfoy!"

"I hate you more, Granger," he mocked.

The girl sat down on the floor and tucked her knees to her chest, the posture of a madman seemed to her life-saving. Interestingly, did he give away her parents things too? Generous purebred moron.

He looked at her as if he had read all her thoughts, although if this were so, his whole plan would have turned to dust, and the floor would fill with dirty blood.

"Do you understand what I'm wearing now?"

Unexpected she felt new strength in her, she always amazed herself in such moments when there is nothing to hope for. The second wind made its way so suddenly.

"How long have you had memory lapses? It seems that I need to show you to the doctor," - he portrayed the tremendous excitement in his voice, and even covered his mouth with his hand, portraying anxiety.

"Come closer," she took a few steps towards him, he instinctively wanted to retreat, but his dignity made him stand still. - "Touch, do not be afraid. "

"Then I will throw up, Granger, straight at you. "

"This is not just a dress, not just a black beautiful fabric. It's upholstery."

And he really thought that Granger lost the adequacy and scolded himself that he went overboard here.

"Granger … "  
The girl raised a finger to her lips as a sign of his silence, and turning to him, she slightly turned her head to the side, peering into his eyes with her brown, almost as dark pupils as the fabric of the dress.

"Upholstery coffin. You put it on me, touch, come closer. Soon your box will be the same inside when you bore Voldemort."

Hermione approached him even closer, catching the grey, icy eyes on herself; she thought she saw alarm there, but blinked and missed it.

A moment of conversation with Zabini flashed inside, and again he caught himself thinking that she was messing with his head. But this could not be, he understood that.

"I hate ..." Her half-whisper could fly into the air, but he heard. And then he felt the touch of her fingers to his hand. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was like time froze for a second. One could not escape, the other did not want to leave. A kind of quest in the endless deadly journey. To smithereens.  
To stand against Malfoy like this, without a wand and a shadow of fear. Yes, she went crazy. This is so stupid to want to surrender and die from these filthy hands. He's the same boy he used to be. The veil fell, there is capitulation in his eyes and unimaginable madness in hers. Where did this extinct fire come from? Expression, rolling in waves, forced her to do some reckless things, building a protective mechanism to save her own self.  
The fragile palm was tightly pressed into the fabric of a white shirt.  
For a long time no one touched him, so simply and fearlessly. There will be a burn in this place, Malfoy is sure. But for some reason he could not force himself to retreat.  
 _It is interesting to watch you_ , slightly lifting his chin he looked over Granger.  
He wanted to catch some sanity in the eyes of this nutty prisoner, but his gaze was completely ignored.  
"Granger, take it away," a commanding tone.  
In response, an inappropriate smile that distorted a pale tender face. It Is empty. He wanted to erase it from a familiar image.

The moon playfully emphasized all the virtues of the girl, making her look even more insane, so translucent. Touch and it crumbles like an illusion.

Devils in her eyes lit up and shone, burning everything in its path: shirt, body, bones. The glance slid over Malfoy in search of a vulnerable spot.

He wanted to dodge, feeling as if the body was being teased by Avada. Death danced tango in distraught eyes, blatantly devouring his gray ice with its onslaught.

Through the palm of her hand she felt the beating of someone else's heart. The organ wants to live, pumps crystal blood. Heartbeats. One, two, three ... Fingers clenched, taking a white cloth under the nails and scratching the hated body. If only she could snatch that damn heart.

An unpleasant sensation pierced through. He grabbed Granger's wrist and twisted his arm, pulling her closer to him, making it as painful as possible.

"Did you want to pull out my heart? " - exhaled in her face and looked into the devilish-brown eyes.

"I still want to," she said, without thinking, enjoying every word.

Trying to pull her hand out of the trap of his strong fingers, she almost stumbled, but he kept her, still not taking his eyes off.

A thought flashed through his mind that he shouldn't have done it: maybe a blow to the head would have been able to bring her out of the state of paranoid Granger. Gray eyes darted across the face, silently calling for obedience.

The dress slept off her shoulder, exposing her snow-white skin. The black lace fabric is in her fingers, she stretched that same hand to his neck and, with a light touch, she led the material over the protruding Adam's apple, like an enveloping stifling rope.  
Malfoy choked on his own anger, she felt it. Manipulating other people's feelings is something enjoyable.

He tried to swallow the accumulated saliva, but the touch of the material to the neck and the heat of the disgusting hand under it did not allow to do what was desired.

"Disgusting, Malfoy? " - Finally, she looked straight into his eyes. Audacious, like never before.

 _This is really dangerous, Granger. For you._

He caught the second wrist, and with unprecedented rudeness he turned her hands behind her thin back, showing a murderous calm with all his appearance, his eyes froze.

Hermione realized that the years of training his mind were not in vain, and he was just starting to pull himself together. She has lost the control acting too slow. Heck.

Hands, clutching her corroded wrists, had a calming effect on the pain, even strong compression helped the burning sensation to subside, she did not like it. The girl tried to escape, wanted to push away, but he, feeling a new resistance, pulled himself to her. It turned out they were so close that she buried her nose in the protruding collarbone, the shirt was the only obstacle, the saving barrier from touching the murderer.

"Well, where is our brave girl?"

Eyes hesitantly looked at his shoulder, then his neck, then slowly rose, meeting with the gray abyss, faltering and falling into it.

"What do you want?" - in her voice the spark was lost, which seemed distinctive. Again the executioner and the victim fell into place.

He touched her earlobe. Almost imperceptibly, with the tip of the tongue, leaving a moist, hot mark and slowly stamping his breath, which she heard and hated. This sound made goose bumps on the skin, treacherous goose bumps. The air tickled her neck, ears, mind.

"Disgusting, Granger?" - A shot. Her very phrase, right in the heart.  
The girl abruptly turned away, so fast so that the neck could break. She wanted the vertebrae to crack, to give free to her soul.

"Please ..." - almost silently, only with lips.

Hermione would have given the whole world for the opportunity to say a word, but all the rage exhausted her so much that she wanted to be alone again. In this creepy room. Forever and ever. Die here alone. Not hearing and not seeing, pull out his hands and pull his voice from her ears.

Everything that happened was disgusting for both. She felt the numbness of her own soul, he felt a disgusting desire to spit her salty taste. Now Granger's taste is not a mystery; Weasley ate it with spoons, memorizing every millimeter of her body. He thought that the touch was too much already. Sensation of a stormy sea.

He felt how her resistance stopped, and the fragile body slowly rolled down, resembling a broken doll, which caring parents throw into the dumpster the next morning.

For a second Malfoy decided that he wanted to help her up, but abruptly released her hands. Distracted noise upstairs.

He threw a glance full of indifference and resentment. He had to leave her like that. Probably, someone from the Eaters decided to visit them and then he would lie there with Granger, near, in a dead state.  
If they were noticed, they learned that Granger is still alive. He had no fear, only disappointment that the plan can fail. His own death will complicate things a little.  
\\\\\

There were two in the room . He froze in the doorway and tried to see the silhouettes. Those did not notice him, one was definitely a girl. The brunette stood with her head down, tangled hair falling on her face, covering her eyes.

"Let me go ... I ask ... let go" - sobs interrupted the pleading.

This voice was hard not to recognize, once he liked it so much. Intrusive, slightly hoarse, sensual.

"Do you really think… although what am I talking about? Thinking's not your friend at all. Fuck, exalt, betray, yes. But to think ... " - Silhouette turned to the girl, and Draco realized that it was Zabini, who brutally clutched at the shoulder of their mutual acquaintance.

Last time he saw Parkinson, she was his girlfriend. Since that meeting, everything has changed, now the eyes have seen only a creature that should lie under his feet . Must crumble, rub off into dust, and disappear.

"Bastard!" - The spittle hit the guy in the face, which made his free hand swing. Another moment, and the girl would have stuck in the stone floor, but Malfoy interrupted this impulse.

"Enough!" –Draco said.

The girl looked desperately at her ex. A smile touched her lips, insincere. Only now he began to distinguish that she never knew how to smile and really laugh. Fucking actress of mediocre theater.

"Draco, dear ..." Pansy was delighted at his appearance more than to get the candy for Christmas.  
"Shut up!" - guys said in one voice and exchanged meaningful glances.

Malfoy was experiencing a storm of emotions from the joy of finding, to anger and the desire to end it. A friend pushed the girl to the floor in one motion and went to the wall, anticipating how Draco would like his gift.

The blond slowly approached the victim. Pansy did not dare to raise her eyes and stared at the polished boots. Baited beast that knew what would happen next.

"Look into my eyes." Watching her from top to bottom is enthralling."

"Draco ..." the hoarse voice tried to say it gently, but Pansy caught her breath, she couldn't squeeze out anymore.

"In the eyes!"- shout very loudly, again the commanding tone.

The girl raised her face, exposing fear and tears. He could drown in her grief, could if he felt something.

The gray eyes glittered like a sharp knife and pierced with a look of vengeance.

For many months his only desire left was to find revenge. To trample into the gravel, as they did to him. For the first and last time, he had some feelings for a woman. Not love at all, but just a habit, it was enough, he liked it. This is the first time he killed all the reasonable things in him that he so passionately guarded and hid. Laid in front of her on the table. For what? So she flooded everything with poison and set it on fire. Fucking absurd.

That day was remembered clearly, even brighter than what was last week.

\\\\\

He lay on the bed, squinting from the sun, staring at her attractive silhouette walking around completely naked in the room.

Her hair, shoulders, smile ... She approached him, spreading his leg, and sat on his hips. Touching hot fingers, curly hair falling on his face, making it difficult to kiss. Passionately, selflessly, enjoying the taste, hot breath.

"Honey, are we alone?" - He had to break the kiss for the sake of this question. She stared with her huge eyes in his gray sea.

"Sex together doesn't work anymore?" - smiling, kissed the tip of her nose, holding her close to him.

"About your parents ... I haven't seen them for a long time." If they catch us? - the voice sounded playful, and the look became more attentive.

Malfoy rolled her onto the back, he liked to be on top much more. He didn't want to answer the questions. The lips touched the desired chest, slowly rising to the neck, a sharp selection, leaving a moist path of pleasure.

"They moved to Nerland, it's not safe here, you know ..."

"I didn't know you have a place to live there." - She broke off kisses and looked into his eyes, not looking up, as if she would never see them again.

"Yes, we purchased a small house there, just recently. Maybe you and I will have to leave soon too."

He cupped her face with his hands, he wanted her to always be so accessible, so his, only his. Forever and ever.

\\\\\  
The past totally dominated his imagination, how long he stood in silence was difficult to understand, but Zabini's disgruntled look spoke of a rather long absence of any signs of life.

One more memory of his parents and he voluntarily prefers to die.

Malfoy slowly squatted down, crouching in front of the girl, and grabbed her hair, pulling her face to him.

"Why did you do that?" - this question is the last thing he wanted to ask, but his lips did not obey, it's late.

"Honey ... I love you, it hurts me." - The girl tried to tilt her head to loosen his grip.

"Honey," said too sweetly "I want to break your neck."

"I ... I didn't say anything, I swear." They just wanted to kill me! Kill my family! Would you really not do anything for your relatives ... - her voice broke into a cry, and tears poured with a new force, pouring the leaked mascara down the cheeks like dirt.

"You knew that I was going to visit my father that day, you deliberately set me up." Did you want to get rid of all of us at once? Wipe out our family to cover your own ass! - He himself did not notice how a wand appeared in his hand, which he pressed into the curved neck of the girl.

"Forgive me, forgive me!" - a dull cry, but in his eyes it was difficult to find a response. Desert ice.

"You're right, I would do anything for the family ... " - The insult, hidden deep inside, began to rise, which means that for her he was nobody, someone who can be thrown at the first opportunity.

Mother's lifeless eyes flashed through his mind. Lying on the floor, but still beautiful, beloved. Never again those eyes will look at him.

"Draco ..."

His wand almost went under the skin, delivering excruciating pain to the victim.  
Most of all in life, he wanted to kill this bitch, erase the friendship of so many years from his head. There was nothing, now he is what he should always be. The person that his father wanted to see, far from being a stupid wizard. Any lesson from life should have been expected, but so cruel, this is too much.

"End her," he turned to Zabini and abruptly stood up.

Not a single touch of sight, he did not deign to her or a friend. Draco went to the exit and slammed the door. The blood in his temples pounded, the feeling that his head would burst now.

Leaning against a wooden fence, two steps from the one that tore all the good in his soul. Soiled with dirt and burned hatred eyes. Malfoy wanted to see her dead, but he didn't want to soil himself on such a trash. He was even offended that he would remember her so miserable, absurd, anticipating his death. Praying for mercy.

There were few true friends in life, sincere belief that she was one of them. He wanted revenge, but all the time he found an excuse for her, a blind certainty that she had nothing to do with it. But if his heart could feel at that moment, then the mind clearly knew who was guilty. Seeing her today, everything fell into place. To dissuade himself was a great delusion.

His eyes slowly closed, and his mother's appearance changed to appearance of his father, equally lifeless, tormented, with a horror imprint on his face.

It would be better if he himself was in that house, it would be better if they killed him.


	7. Chapter 7

Tired in body, soul and spirit. What's the difference to lie here for a day or two or three. She doesn't care at all. Her eyes rested on the doorway.

 _Malfoy forgot about the lock._

Having risen not from the first or even the second time, she has gotten over herself and has tiptoed to the door. Heart pounded in the quivering hope.

Taking the first step beyond the threshold, Hermione felt the difference in the air. The room, smelling of humiliation and solitude, was left behind. She even had to shut the door. Her heart went wild, starting to beat harder.

The lifelessness of the house was broken by an intolerable scream, female, but the voice broke off abruptly, as if he had been pulled out of ears and thrown away.

Curiosity got the best of Granger and made her stop in the middle of a dark passageway to the stairs. Mind started to analyze everything: how did Malfoy behave and why did he get nervous and forgot to close the door? Maybe they found her and wanted to save her, and now he used an unforgivable spell there, for example, on Ginny.

Heart collapsed.

She ran up the stairs, jumping over two, or even three, ultrafast. A huge corridor, like a runway with many doors. Hermione had to stop and listen, but there was nothing to listen to. Cursed silence.

The light coming from the window at the very end of the corridor was barely enough to save from pitch darkness. Absolutely identical doorways are on both sides. A hand stretched open one door after another, but all in vain. Looks like Malfoy has paranoia on locked locks.

 _You're insane, Malfoy, definitely insane._

There were still a few rooms in which she did not have time to look when Zabini flew out of the door. With his mind preoccupied, he pushed her away and took a few steps to the stairs. To say that Hermione was surprised was to say nothing. So she remained to stand at that very doorway. The guy stopped almost at the stairs and slowly turned on his heels in her direction, giving her a questioning glance.

"Where is Malfoy? " She asked without a shadow of fear, as if they had crossed on the Hogwarts Express.

From the former Zabini remained perhaps the growth and color of the skin, the rest seemed to be erased and painted anew. A tired look, sunken cheeks, a rumpled jacket and fingers, numbly clutching a wand.

They looked at each other for more than a minute, silently exchanging questions and memories. Ping pong without a ball. Stupid and pointless.

Then Zabini broke the silence and finally looked up from her.

"This is a damn house," he murmured something else and started down the stairs, leaving Hermione and dozen doors on the second floor. 

\\\\\

 _You drowned, Malfoy, in your own swamp._

He looked at the furious stream of water, not daring to look in the mirror. Who is there to see? A killer, a coward or an orphaned guy who went nuts?

His hands rested in the bottom of the sink, he was in oblivion for a few minutes, until his fingers cramped.

"Malfoy. "

He started, as if completely forgetting why he was standing here. The voice can be easily recognized, but if he had choice he preferred not to.

"Who was upstairs? " - the girl spoke softly, putting as much calmness in her words as possible.

"Back ... " - the only word that he squeezed out. In fact, it was difficult for Malfoy to understand someone else. Not even turned.

 _Glory to Merlin, he did not turn._

"Tell me, please, who ... " - her mind was confused, eating away the soul, changing scary pictures one after the other. If he wasn't just talking about Weasley, and there was, for example, Ginny. She needs to know ... it is very necessary, although it is too late to fix something.

"Go back to the room,"

"I'm not going anywhere"

"Granger, I know why your Potter died," his voice hoarse, as if his throat was covered with rust. In response, silence. - "In his place I would prefer the same thing as an attempt to escape ... from you"

Fingers in the water were like a lightning rod, distracting from external sources of irritation. For how long?

"Stop it, immediately! " - Her hands squeezed the corner of the wall, leaving wet marks on the tile.

"It is tasty? "

"What? "If her gaze could have hurt, the boy's back would have been cut by hundreds of whips."

"I think it's awesome. If you eat it time after time. Spoonful, greedily. "

Malfoy never knew that Hermione was so ridiculous in simple communication. It seems to be heard as her mind creaks on the skull.

"I'm talking about my brains now, Granger. About their remnants after you. "

"Malfoy! This is absurd. You need to be treated. The head began to rot, and without that it was always your weakest spot. "

Again, nothing in return. He fell into his own thoughts. How infuriating it is! Hermione wishes he was yelling now.

Hermione looked at the gray concrete floor, then at the Death Eater, mentally assessing how many steps she had to do to get her answer. Feet rooted to the floor, and the mind stubbornly tried to make the first step.

He was silent, still looking at his hands in icy water, hoping to reassure his self-esteem and something else that prevented him from throwing Avada into Pansy, for example, or breaking his neck after a disgraceful escape from the room, leaving the whole load to Zabini.

"Tell me. "

Such a hateful voice floats in his ears and makes his brain go fuzzy. Malfoy pulled out into the present from a heap of his own thoughts. This forced to sharply raise his head and clutch at her reflection. Still silent, but feeling overwhelmed by the obsession to immerse her face in a sink filled with water.

"I beg you ... "

Her hand hesitated a little before slowly and uncertainly touched the shoulder.

Even in the reflection, he did not meet her gaze. Hermione looked through, it was terribly annoying. Rolling horror and hopelessness from the absence of the necessary information knocked the ground from under her feet.

A glimpse of the idea of hitting him and escaping. But if she escapes this time, then Malfoy is right about her being the rat.

 _Attempt number one hundred and twenty-five of your enchanting humiliation and digging up your pit, Granger._

"Draco ..." her tongue burned, as if the more unforgivable words on her lips were not uttered. He was shaken no less, but she did not feel.

 _Granger, hands were quite enough. Now open me and wash from the inside._

" ... who was there, it is important for me to know. Just tell me, I beg you, " - the end of the phrase sounded even more pitiful than she thought.

In the gray eyes flashed something alive, playfully swaying on a fiery carousel. He met her gaze in the reflection, catching someone else's fright. Lips spread in a poisonous smirk.

She was scared, she tried to remove her hand, but his wet, icy hand from the water covered her fingers, tightly pressing into the fabric of a white shirt.

"Weasley, of course," the voice again acquired its habitual cynicism.

"What? .." She looked up at the ceiling, hoping to hold her tears. This delightful moment Malfoy could not help but notice.

"I will kill you," she blurted out in an instant.

"Really? " - the smile still remained, but a scarlet blush was added to it, making the pale skin more alive. - "A tempting offer, but to fulfill your desires is not included in my plans. "

Hermione was overwhelmed by a numb hate, words gathered in her throat and wanted to flow in the surrounding air, one after another, loudly, thoughtlessly, enslaving common sense.

"You and your parents don't deserve life! You have no right to decide who will die tomorrow, and who will live another week. The death misses them. "

"You're so mistaken, Granger." You will never understand ...

The smile faded to nothing. He released her hand and slowly turned around, gazing at the future corpse with a squeamish look.

"I wish them dead, Malfoy." The same way you honored my ..." Hermione began to choke, feeling another burst of anger coming on.

The worst thing is that he is indifferent to these words. Her manipulation cannot work.

 _Try, just do not stop. I can not feel. I do not feel anything. I haven't known for a long time what I'm doing here._

"Just shut up"

"No, no, no," she shook her head like a little child.

"Bitch, " - a slow exhalation. Gray eyes closed with the hope that Granger would evaporate.

"I have changed my mind! Death must be different. Do you remember how many people they destroyed, and how many you destroyed? " - She contemptuously looked at him.

He caught her gaze, forcing her to look into his eyes. Such an unpleasant thing for both.

"What other way? Think, Granger, before it's too late ... "

"You didn't let me see my parents dead. Maybe this is right, for me they will forever remain happy, with beating hearts. But I want you to see, see your dead father, mother, so that your rotten heart can die forever. Although to whom I say, you don't give a shit about anyone! The main thing is for you", - she poked a finger into his chest, - "Malfoy, that you are alive, for this you are ready to do everything. Because your insides, you cannot call it a soul, are capable only of immoral things. "

He listened to this impulse, carefully and without interrupting, squeezing the edge of the conch with frenzy, that it seems there will remain deep dents.

"Take it! Take your bastard words in your damn mouth! "

"Choke on them yourself! " – she screamed out. His face was burning with anger, his eyes were darker than usual.

"Go-od. "

He silently rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, deliberately and carefully, only Malfoy could do that. The freaking pedant. Hermione watched every move, staying in place and mentally running for the gate of the house.

Long fingers removed her disobedient hair to the side, making her flinch, and touched the cervical vertebrae, grasping, as if wanting to lift the kitten by the scruff.

He turned her back to himself, tightly pressed to his body. She arched, trying to avoid touch, but in vain. Her back felt his body, breathing, shirt buttons growing into her skin. With each exhale all the stronger. Madness.

"From the first second you came here, I dreamed about it, " - his face was seized by a mask of impenetrable insensitivity.

Granger moved her lips silently, glancing at their general reflection.

Tenacious hands forcibly tilted her head to the sink so that drops of water touched her face. The smell of cold water squeezed the lungs, the heart began to beat in anticipation, pushing the ribs.

"Malfoy! Enough! "

Thin hands grasped the edge of the shell, trying to push off from torture with wild force. But the water fell on the fingers, and they slid limply, and the face plunged into the boiling water. The air immediately disappeared; today it acted irrationally, beginning to scream hysterically, trying to escape. The deadly liquid that she had requested from Malfoy earlier had penetrated her nose and mouth, filling Granger to death. She stopped resisting, closing her eyes and letting the liquid take the vital air.

Malfoy pulled the girl out, holding the head thrown back to himself, peering at the distorted face and the blue lips from the cold. At that very moment, the girl went into a godless cough, spitting out water, shuddering with her whole body. 

He pressed his cheek to her wet face, not hiding a grin. Whispering, forcing to listen.

"Never, do you hear, never until I allow. Do not dare open your mouth. "

He released her and Hermione bounced off the sink a few steps in a split second, staring at the drops of water on the floor. Fearfully turning her gaze to Malfoy, she grabbed the first towel that came to hand. She wiped her face and hands with frenzy, then threw a wet ball into his face.

 _She is crap_

They silently looked into each other's eyes. He looked into brown, filled with tears, she into gray, mired in hatred. For a second, it seemed to her that the extra words were utterly painful, it was difficult for her to analyze her flow when the memory of her parents was at stake.

 _Unbalanced Geek. I will kill you, I promise I will kill you! I know you hear what I think about. The mouth gasped for air._

"To the room, now! " - He walked past her, pushing to the door. The girl was imprinted in it, not even trying to resist in place.

Malfoy waited for her to guess how to open this miracle of technology. He lifted his eyebrows, letting the wrinkles touch his forehead, walked over to her, pushed aside and, turning the knob, was the first to leave the bathroom, inviting at a glance to follow his example.

There were no more tears in her eyes, he saw something worse there. Now she feels the same thing, that he a year ago, perhaps she is even more sick ... What is he up to? Stay close to those responsible for the death of the most precious people. History is secondary.

 _Envy consumes me. Share what I lost. Irrevocably sold the devil. My feelings. At least something._

The road to the room on the first floor stretched out for five long minutes. Five minutes of silence and her views expressing murderous hatred.

Malfoy opened the door and threw the girl into the lonely "cage". She stumbled over the threshold and fell on the floor with her knees, then rolled down onto her elbows, leaving a wet mark, and lay down with her whole body on the hateful parquet. The door closed. There was no click of the lock, this time consciously.

"Are you silent? "

She leaned forward, glaring into his gray eyes with her burning eyes, and whispered with some kind of passionate obsession:

"Look at me, look deeper. , He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named , the one whose death I want to see even more desirable than yours, says you a farewell "hello" " - the last word in a sugary whisper, insultingly sweet. A hand reaches in his direction, and she breathes in the lips. 

_I do not see you, no to your eyes, I do not feel you, no to your hands on my shoulders. This is nothing. Fiction._

"Feel, come on, feel me. Death is me. This is what you deserve" - lips to lips.

Hands touch the face, fingertips from the chin up the cheekbones, burning, leaving their imprints on the skin.  
The first kiss in his life, to which he cannot answer and before the crunch in his heart wants to exchange everything in the world to stop it.

The lungs stop listening, the lips move away. There is nothing of this, only eyes. Alien brown eyes. 

Get out of bed. Sharp. Blanket under your feet. Droplets of sweat on the temples leave a wet path, rolling down the cheekbones.

A clump of blankets and a well-aimed throw into the corner of the room, wildly, releasing an emotional wasteland.

 _That's just what it was, damn it?_

"Granger, stupid Granger," he exhaled the words hatefully into the cold air, and the room filled with it. It can not be worse.

 _Fuck absurd!_

 _Yes, you have just go nuts. She is the only one in your circle who cannot be close to Voldemort. Cold, fucking unwanted, soaked through with Muggles. But there is no one else to rely on._ The last conclusion injected into the boundless apathy. Trust. This is ridiculous. To whom? Her?

\\\\\

A hand touched the surface of the dresser, wiping off the dust. Fingerprints imprinted as a sign of her shameful curiosity.

 _Curiosity, you will destroy me._ The box opened easily.

Newspaper clippings and images. Later, she noticed a notebook which has been kept from other people's views, in the very depth of the cabinet. Fingers uncertainly brought it closer.

Black leather bound, acid-free paper and a wonderful smell almost brought her to ecstasy. The first page is empty ... Scrolling through a hundred blank sheets, finally, the text appeared. Beautiful to the point of insanity, neat, handwriting as on Christmas cards. Absolutely steady on white unlined paper.

She knows that reading other people's diaries is low, but also she realizes that she cannot stop herself. Glance eagerly seized the first line.

 _22, November_

 _This was my first time. How does it feel?_ _No one will ever feel like this._ _I can't describe something dark inside of me_ _._ _Total darkness. It seems to me that every day this mark goes deeper, rubbing into my skin, bones, and someday it will become akin to my blood. What would_ _you father say?_ _Would you be proud of me? You would be proud. I know._

 _Why do I want to die so much then?_

Hermione let out a cautious breath, and once again ran her eyes over what she had read. Of course, who could have such a handwriting ...

 _1st December_

 _In order not to go crazy, I need to record. Every day fucking chronology. I need to stay in this world. I owe for the sake of my parents, I must, because I am still alive, unlike those around me._

Records were made a year earlier, apparently, so he threw his diary so far. Now he cannot be called just a little alive. The thought of pity appeared into her head, but she confidently drove her away, remembering the real him and forgetting ever deeper that Malfoy she knew at school.

1st of January

 _Today I killed the sixth family, I still count. The most interesting is when I get along._

 _It is foolish of me to think that it brings pleasure. It's easier to disable this "thinking" altogether. The feeling that everything is not in vain, and I make the right choice. In any case, it is better to believe in it, I have no other option. I have nothing at all. I just clean the dirt._

I just clean the dirt. She read it, moving her lips alone, and pulled herself up without realizing it, said it out loud.

 _12th, January_

 _By the most modest standards, I screw up the lives of dozens of Mudblood wizards. Why every day do I have the feeling that I am drowning in this dirty blood myself?_

 _In the city there is no clean air, everything is saturated with dead rotting. Every time I try to wash off, because_ _I bring home the_ _scent of_ _death_ _with me_ _every day._ _I'm sick of myself. Rip off the skin just like the cloak, and throw in the wash. Come on, Henry, get some bleach._

 _There's no peace, no calm._

 _29th, January_

 _Blaise came. He shared how he killed a new family. How he killed a child ... Dirty, not deserving to breathe our crystal air. The air that torments my lungs and erodes humanity._

 _There was uncertainty in his look. Do I need to support him?_

 _We no longer dare to talk about this._

 _I want to take morphine and not wake up._

 _Perhaps the only thing you can learn from the Muggles. Be like them but only in this._

 _Until I had the honor not to touch someone defenseless._

 _I hope they kill me before._

 _Please_

Her heart beat against her will. Fingers squeezed the notebook, leaving wet marks on the pages on both sides. In these records, everything that she missed, being in her ordinary world. She lived and did not think about their wrong choice. A bitter disgust rose to the throat, a feeling of betrayal almost on the tongue.

 _17th, February_

 _Malfoy Manor is empty. I have been sleeping in the same room on the first floor for two nights already. I am distorted by this emptiness. It is impossible to stay here. I hear conversations, I hear the past, every chair, mug, parquet board draws me into a lost life. I can't do this anymore, I want peace._

 _Give me peace._

 _28th, March_

 _I'm scared? I'm utterly pathetic. Why is all this happening? I saw yesterday everyone with whom my father spoke, at this "meeting" of round-table idiots who were ready to suck Voldemort if he wished. They, probably, still think of an erection, as about something supreme and forbidden. Impotent pedants._

 _They looked into my eyes and were interested in how I cope with such a new and honorable position. Did I try to kill someone? How it was. And these looks, lips in a slight smile. As if we were all fucking friends, as if they did not come to my father in the evenings and did not dine with him at the same table, and then they betrayed him. They all betrayed themselves and my father, and me._

 _Disgusting, I want to wash myself from the inside with a mop and burn out._

Granger was too enthusiastic and missed the record about his father, turning a few pages forward.

 _26th, April_

 _I lost count. The worst thing happened this morning. I already like killing. I woke up with this thought and walk hand in hand with it all day. This is the only thing I have, my successful hobby._

 _Father would be glad. Now I am sure._

Before her eyes was the development of the dark side of Malfoy. It cannot be read as an open book, he is too able to keep everything under control. But this notebook gives a small part of the soul, right in the hands.

 _10th, May_

 _You were pathetic. How good that you managed to fix it, I want to snatch all the previous pages and burn._

 _Who wrote this?_

 _I have a goal, I know how to stop all this. It seems that when I understand, I will take up the solution of the main problem. But I begin to like my life, I am addicted._

A few more sheets past, there was no time to read. She could be caught at any minute. Faster. Familiar names hit her eyes, and she stopped at one of the last pages.

 _18, June_

 _My desk is littered with old newspapers about Potter and his rats. Charity case , whore, zitty loser ... Yes, there are so many of them than I even remembered. Merlin, did I really think that someday it would touch my eyes? Why is there nothing? I just need to find this trashy stone ..._

 _Where did you, douche-Potter, hide my last chance? I need to shake everyone, I'll start with Weasley, I need to. At any price. And my life depends on ..._

 _... fucking world. Fucked brain._

A picture flashed in Hermione head on the eighteenth of June: the birthday of her friend. She drank a couple of cocktails at the club, met a young man of pleasant appearance and mediocre thinking. It was fun. She had fun at the very second when Malfoy put his wand in his pocket to kill Ron. Tears are in the eyes .

 _20th, June_

 _I saw Lovegood in the city, she noticed me, I'm sure. Just did not show it. There is a desire to track down. Perhaps my list will be replenished with one blonde of Potter. I will avenge him for this new world. For the hope he took from us._

 _Are you reading this, Potter? Everyone who is dead is afraid to look down and see what is happening with us now. You should be damn ashamed. And I damn like killing you already dead. Last month I gave you Weasley, now it's not so boring, there is someone to wipe your glasses._

Fingers abruptly closed the notebook. Eyes were washed by tears frozen on eyelashes. She tried to find the place where she had stopped, but she was so afraid to see even one familiar name that her fingers shook treacherously and refused to obey.

 _21st of June_

 _My work has become a routine. Pleasure is no more. It's like drinking coffee in the morning. No enjoyment, just a vital habit._

 _New house, new man, old me and old taste of death in the air._

 _It is ridiculous to remember, but we find a common language with the victim. One man even offered to kill him as quickly as possible and threw a couple of options that he liked. This is how to choose which whiskey you want to buy from the bartender._

 _17th, July_

 _One whore invited me to fuck. So here's the threshold. I really look like someone for whom sex is an argument?_

 _I will go, I will look in a mirror, is it really that bad?_

" _Just do not kill. I will do anything ... "_

 _How stupid you are , "anything you like." Last words._

 _How long have I been without sex? A month or one and a half?_

 _Do you remember the name of the one who was kneeling in front of you in the hallway…_

Granger disgustedly missed three lines describing loathsome details, she wanted to wash and wipe her eyes from the inside.

 _... no, I don't even remember what she looked like. I do not have the strength to just think about it is not that ... I am pitiful._

Eyes eagerly clung to the pages, not immediately noticed behind, ten centimeters, slowly and posthumously standing owner of the diary.

"Is it really interesting, Granger? " - His cheekbones are strained, eyes narrowed, sticking one hundred and one daggers into her spine.

She slams the diary and turns to face him, trying to squeeze her hips into the chest of drawers so that the saving ten centimeters of their distance will not be reduced.

"I, I did not read. " - Hands behind her back slowly put the diary on the dresser, almost silently.

"I, I saw everything," mocked the stuttering and slightly tilted his head, he has noticed the manipulations behind her back.

"Did your Potter not teach you that touch someone else things is not good? Although what I'm talking about, he fucked Weasle's sister and she is also a very worn slut" - his face twisted in a grimace of disgust.

"And you fucked worn Pansy. And survived somehow. " - Talking about Weasley was hard for her, she needs to change the topic. But how could she know that she threw a revolver in his hands to shoot her head into smithereens?

His hand twitched in an uncontrollable desire to grab her by the throat, but the brain has suppressed the reflex, and the palm rested on the right side of the Granger's hip, right on the dusty chest of drawers.

They both followed the movement with their eyes. She still remained standing, he did not bother to retreat, so as not to divide the oxygen.

"I didn't think you know these words. "

"Thinking's not your thing at all, Malfoy. Suck it up"

 _What the hell I'm doing here?_

"I didn't come here for this," He gave her one of his hard cold stares.  
Granger listened attentively, trying to look at the floor, the walls, the ceiling, anywhere, just not at him.

\- Are you kidding?

\- YES! I mean, no, - the tips of her lips nervously twitched in a smile, barely perceptible.

Merlin, let him not notice.

"I need you to look into my eyes," Having said that he removed his hand from the dresser, giving a little more space, hoping to get what he wanted.

\- What for? "The nails were pressed into the palms, suppressing the rising fear of Draco's presence, so close that you could smell the rotten hatred."

\- Bloody hell. Can you exist without unnecessary questions? .. - said louder than he expected, the girl pressed herself into the chest of drawers even more. Draco had to make a lot of effort to get myself back to normal and finish in a quieter, enticing voice, playing with her mind, forcing her to listen. - Look, and I'll leave. You want me to leave?

"Perhaps," the edge of the dresser dug into the lower part of the spine, delivering endless discomfort, but this could hardly overshadow Malfoy.

\- What? - his eyes widened, showing sincere surprise at the answer he had heard.

\- I don't care. – But really who is she trying to fool? – Yeah, I want.  
"Otherwise, I'll stay here with you for the night. Or maybe you want to go to the bathroom with me? It seems you liked it there" - he looked at her. An elusive tension and little hope that she will eventually give up.

 _Yes, I myself want to leave, Granger. I had enough of you_

Slowly she turned her gaze straight ahead and stared at the collar of his shirt, as if stumbling and no longer having the strength to break the barrier.

"Do you think my eyes ... are ... exactly here? " - he seemed to utter each word through clenched jaws. "Granger, you almost seem to have brains." Should I give you an anatomy tutorial?

Brown eyes closed for a few seconds and, abruptly opening, came into contact with grays one.

"Better give yourself a primer, Malfoy. "

The phrases reached in a glimpse. Now the main thing is to listen to yourself. Try to understand whether his dream has deceived? He did not dream about anything, absolute emptiness every night for several months, and then ...

 _Extreme paranoia, Malfoy, you can congratulate yourself._ It dawned on him that he was silent for too long.

"What is the primer? "

"Never mind. "

He tried to compare the feeling with those that he experienced in a dream, almost without blinking until the pain in the eyes.

"Is that all that is required of me? " - Previously, the eyes of Malfoy spawned ice blocks in the soul. Now absolute attention and control. Something new, she did not like it.

"I do not know yet. "

"I see ... " - Again, the feeling that she stands with imbecile, but this time there is a trained silence. This actually safer.

 _Just brown eyes. Nothing special at all. How many with whom I have slept had brown eyes? Damn, I don't even remember their names, but ... Why were they so clearly in a dream?_ He closed his eyes with his hands and rubbed his face hard.

"So what? "

"Nothing ..." he said it slowly still frozen in place.

"Have you ever tried to be normal?" - Hermione looked away at the window, looking through the interlocutor. Nerves slowly began to calm down.

"Nasty, don't you think?"- A few steps to the side, returning his precious personal space.

"Breathing with you the same air is deadly disgusting. Similar to death."

This brought back to the present.

"Say thank you, that I have not tried something else, in order to be sure for one hundred percent. " – Imagining her lips near his mouth, a desire to run into the wall came up, knocking out a part of the brain responsible for poor imagination.

She took several uncertain steps to lost the unpleasant interlocutor and went to the window, leaning her fingers on the black grille.

"How long will I stay here? " - Doom in the voice covered the room

"I ..." he choked on the question in the forehead. - "You mean the room? "

"We both understand what I have meant"

The hand reached for the notebook. Thin fingers wrapped around the cover and opened the diary in the middle. He has no time to listen to her spiritual decay ...

"Did you read everything? "

"Enough," a look, as before, studied the street, completely unfamiliar to it. Empty and cold, but even she liked such freedom more than she had to have.

"Do you just hate me or something special?" Draco frowned and put a corner of the notebook to his lips, trying to understand what was now available to her, and whether it was possible to start a conversation that had been bursting with him for several weeks.

She hesitated to answer.

 _So trained Granger, even sickening. He waited too long, really cannot wait a day?_

"So, I distracted you, I'm sorry. " - He threw a diary under her feet. - "Read!"

Hands still clung to the grille, as if soldered with metal together. Brown eyes look tired, eyes rushed to the diary, then to him. The only thing she honored the notebook, is pushing it with her leg back towards the owner.

"On the eighteenth of June, I killed the red dude, the only one who had you Granger." - He froze, waiting for some reaction, but in response a deafening-offensive silence. - "That day you were with your friend, in the company of morons and stupid girls who wanted to get you drank. "

Eyes fumbled around the room in search of an answer to his question. Should he continue?

"Do you know why I said the only Weasley who tried you in bed?" - The feeling of talking to himself pisses him off. - "Because Granger needs to read everything through. Where did that know-it-all from school go? Have you knocked her out of yourself? " - He went to the window and looked into her face, which was previously unavailable.

Brown eyes, absolutely dark, wet and at the same time deceased. What did he say was too much? When exactly did she start crying and not get angry?

 _He wonders when the wizard loses his wand, the only thing he can do is to drown his companion in a sea of_ _tears? Promising option._

"You ... " - a sharp turn of the head in his direction. Naughty hair stuck to wet cheeks, Malfoy wanted to cut them and throw them away.

"How do you know? " - so quiet, as if asking the most intimate secret.

"I need to have complete information about you, Granger. ... you know, everyone can die of boredom, if they watch your meager life. "

Her hand cruelly slammed into Malfoy's cheek.

It was unpleasant, but pride did not allow even to touch the place, which touched the hated palm.

"Next time that happens I tear it off." He caught her wrist and immediately threw it away. "If you are not a fool, Granger, then everything will end much faster. I think this is a mutual desire. "

Her cheek was burning from the blow and from her gaze.

\- What are you trying to see there?

"Put something cold," she stumbled over her own care, "for example, your own heart. I am sure it can help. "

"Bite off your tongue ... " - with a slow step to the exit, simultaneously capturing the diary and hurling it almost to her head, three centimeters to the left. Perfectly.


	8. Chapter 8

To say that she was fascinated by the exploring the house means to produce the most cruel deception in the first place. But this is the only entertainment that Hermione can afford. Not a single calendar on the wall or newspaper on the coffee table, not a single hint of "what's the date today," or at least the day of the week.

During this time, Henry brought her new dresses (all black, emphasizing the giver's mockery), called her to the kitchen with him, and even allowed not to return to the unloved room. She could not count on the courtesy of the elf. So Malfoy himself did not want to talk to her, everything happened through an intermediary.

For a week, she saw him once when he went to work and they had to face each other in the kitchen. The cruellest awareness of where this person is going, and the deaf inaction, as if approving everything with her behavior.

 _Here is the table, here is the knife, here is your numbed hand, take the knife and stick it in the ribs, turn it desperately, three times counterclockwise._ A similar mantra pounded in Granger mind with each of his appearances.

Despite the enormous size of the kitchen, it became cramped, making it difficult for the lungs to function, causing a desire to run away as quickly as possible.

She was given a nod toward the door, which meant that she was useless in the room while Draco was pleased to drink coffee. She is endlessly indifferent to the preferences of the rabid host, just the smell of roasted seeds penetrated through the walls and tortured her. She learned to distinguish when he woke up. Never in her life Hermione had ever hated coffee like that. Pure disgust.

/

This morning began without annoying caffeine, so she could easily imagine that there was no one else in the house except for her and Henry. Something told her that she should go upstairs and search the rooms for wands, for at least something that allows her to escape from here. She has a tendency to do some reckless things. Dawn has not touched the windows yet, so there was hope to pass by Henry unnoticed.

That is exactly what she did. Before the moon was replaced by a gloomy sky, Hermione climbed to the top floor on that longest corridor, inspiring uncontrollable excitement with a taste of evil fear. After speeding up the steps, she tried as silently as possible to step on the concrete floor. Finding the necessary door wasn't difficult; she not once noticed how Malfoy entered exactly this black wooden - tombstone, only this way she imagined the place of his sleep.

She squeezed her fingers on the doorknob and inadmissibly slowly turned it to the left, due to which it opened silently and Hermione felt the cold of the room.

 _Indeed, as in a crypt._ She entered on tiptoes, shuddering at every contact with the cold floor.

It took a long time before she allowed herself to move and close the door from the inside. What she saw in this room, scared her to death. The coolness was no longer felt, it became hellish hot. Before her eyes, at a distance of five meters, there was the most ordinary bed of oak wood, covered with a green blanket. The smell of the tree interrupted the fresh air that reached from the street, but this was by no means the most unexpected for the bedroom. It was more scary to realize that she had entered in the presence of the host.

Malfoy was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, his chest slowly heaving from breathing. A weakened body, pale skin and, most importantly, a closed mouth, which means that not a single ugly crap will fly out of it, with which he would gladly push his companion to the lowest position, the bottom of his own dignity.

The idea that he looked great just like that was not at all from a sudden outburst of admiration for his appearance, rather the opposite. _Sleeping means he is dead for a while._ Hermione liked him dead the most. Nothing more beautiful and desirable can not be imagined.  
She has gotten back to reality, noticing that the guy's face grimaced, and sweat appeared on his forehead. But having reassured herself that even the death eaters had nightmares, she drove the fear a centimeter behind, but still felt his annoying presence.

 _This will be your crypt if you can't find a goddamn wand._ Her fingers straightened hair nervously.

Steps in the direction of the bed. Long eyelashes cast a shadow under the eyes, Granger always hates everything in him: from those same eyelashes to the tops of the fingers. There were no wands in sight, panic was growing with every second of stay in the room.

She frowned, irritated by her own timidity, and reluctantly turned her gaze to the edge of the locker next to the bed. Slowly moving toward it on the toes, even the wind, beating out the window, became stronger, as if helping her to remain unnoticed.

A glance darted between Malfoy and the wooden box, but fear could not take its own when there was such a chance at stake. Fingers eagerly opened the box, and two scrolls and an inkwell fell on the ground, too noisy, but Malfoy did not even move. Granger exhaled sharply through her mouth the accumulated horror in her lungs and with trembling hands put everything back into place.

 _You're an idiot, Hermione. Without a question!_ She is ready to send curses on herself for such a mistake. Only for this, too, need a wand, very funny. Is it possible to think that Malfoy is so stupid as to hide it so clearly. If his pockets are empty, it does not mean that the wand is not with him.

New crazy thought visited the head, deathly stupid. Looking at the bed and close her eyes, forcing herself to do at least the impossible. _He, she, the bed ... her body, if he wakes up._ Slowly with her knees on the blanket, to reach as far as possible, cursing him for staying overnight just today. His chest slowly heaved upwards, helping her make sure that the guy was completely calm and could not wake up for a long time.

She saw the wand in the right pocket of his pants, lamenting that she hadn't noticed it the first time. The hand was reaching out to get what she wanted, but stopped two inches from the object, and the glimmer of common sense that arose after this added the bitter feeling of fear that she felt in her sleep.

Here, in front of her, the killer of the dearest people is completely unarmed and in ignorance. The man who turned her life into a meaningless series of sunrises and sunsets. Deprived her of the opportunity to experience joy, in return giving her hatred, absorbing a sense of guilt and belonging to all the terrible things that happened around her. It was as if she herself had killed those for whom she was dear, and who was inexpressibly dear to her.

 _I HATE._ The hand involuntarily reached to the sleeping face, and the fingers slowly slid down the cheek, dropping to the chin and stiffened at the neck, feeling a beating artery beneath, a sign of life that gets her overwhelmed.. Fingers slowly wrapped around the neck, feeling unprecedented power, and in the eyes of the devil shone, capable of much ...

 _Why are you slow, he killed ... he killed your parents, how many more he will kill!_ The inner voice urged to do the only right thing.

Fingers did not obey, remaining in the same position, strained position. And she was ready to go out as silently as she had entered, when the sound of approaching steps came from the corridor, making her stand still and freeze from fear. The last thing she wanted now was to be caught next to Malfoy, in a sign of her own stupidity and indecision.

If she had killed him a second earlier, she would not have bothered. She listened - the sound subsided. Rising quickly out of bed, she ran around the room in search of any one hidden place, praying for help and could not find anything more sensible than to hide behind a screen with things that seemed to stand to maintain the interior, covered with a triple layer of dust.

At the same moment, someone opened the door and quickly entered the room. She did not dare to move, even breathing became an indescribable luxury. With a sense of suffocating fear, she tried to understand who this unexpected guest was.  
"The best time to sleep, Malfoy,"- with the sense of impatience . Who else can afford to communicate with him like that? The voice is so familiar, she almost immediately recognized him and did not understand to breathe out from spiritual solace or to remain a tense string behind this damn screen.

"I could die while waiting for you to appear," Malfoy's voice was hard and loud, as if he hadn't slept a few minutes ago.

"It's all such reckless nonsense. I killed all day long because of your whim before I found at least someone whose words could be believed to."

"Let's just skip unnecessary, Zabini. We are tired of waiting for you, and this suffocating me for some time ..." - the last words flew through the screen, as if spoken to someone third.

Her heart began to beat through time, in anticipation of something unwanted, rending. He could not notice her, it's even funny. She just needs to wait until they leave and then escape from the rotten bedroom. Any room in the house of Malfoy becomes intolerable disgusting for her.

"Do you have habits for schizophrenic? "We". I always knew that adequacy is not your destiny ... "

Sarcastic accusation flew to Malfoy, what a pity that she does not see his face now. This is an indescribable feeling of delight, plus a hundred points Zabini.

"In general, everything I managed to find out about the stone ... Potter is the last in whose hands he has been. And to think that ... "

"Do you think he took this secret to his underground apartment?" - irritation glimmered in the larynx and felt by all those present.

"It is likely, Malfoy, what you have in mind - is inexhaustible shit. Acknowledge it" - his friend obviously doesn't choose his words carefully, saying straight away everything he thinks. It is a pity that she is not allowed this.

"You suggest that I doubt my own mother and believe the words of some crazy one who exchanged a couple of phrases with you about Finally-Died-Shredded."

Hermione clenched her fists suppressing the desire to punch him in the face, as it was at school. It was wonderful. Strong. Angry.

"Not. I do not think ... Maybe she just left you some hope so that you would not lose the desire to live at all? "

"Maybe we will ask directly whether this damn stone exists, or I just need to go out the window without meeting dawn."

"Ask anyone? If it's so easy, why did I sulk so much time looking for at least someone who knows more about him than you and I?" - A friend was clearly angry, and his voice ranged from too loud to sleeping.

"Let's ask Granger if she knows anything. After all, it depends on her answer whether she will take the last breath now or will die there behind this pathetic screen." - He came too close, peering into the impenetrable fabric, wanting her to feel his gaze like never before. But in her field of vision was only a shadow, its awesome shape.

Hermione's knees buckled, and she completely stopped controlling the fear that filled her body.  
"Come out, honey." - Fingertips ran through the stretched fabric and spread panic in her mind.

A hand appeared on the edge of the screen, so abruptly and without warning that the heart jumped above the ceiling. Eyes stared at the long fingers, wrist, pierced with bluish veins and branching lines in the palm. To remain so stupid, and to give him a hand, meant to indicate the real evidence of her guilt.

She took such a huge breath, as if it were the last breath in her life, and her fingers touched his palm, from excitement so wet and cold, gliding up to his wrist, feeling every vein, protrusion, bone beneath. Deadly in detail and so not needed. After a moment, she was already standing in front of the guys and nervously biting her cheek from the inside, not noticing any pain or taste of blood.

"You should've strangle, Granger, you should've squeeze your fingers" - He exchanged a meaningful look with her and a self-satisfied smile that did not find a response on her face.

Hermione could not find the words to express the depth of her contempt for herself. The only time in her life she agreed with him, to the bottom of the soul, she vehemently agreed.

"Hey, I'm still here." - Zabini passed by them, breaking the invisible connection between the two silent, and sat on the edge of the window sill.

"I do not know anything about this stone. I cannot help, fortunately" - every word brought her intoxicating delight, because now she had the opportunity to observe their reaction. Draco's face was distorted with a displeased expression, the most beautiful thing she could do was play on the nerves.

"You are so small-minded..." - his gaze is filled with despair, the first emotion that she managed to read after being in front of him for about five minutes, - "you're lying." - A step towards, and a sip of despair to her inside, -"lying, I see."

This is not a hero from the book, this is a hero of a psychiatrist who has only bile. But at this moment, his eyes are so focused, his voice, every phrase he thinks over. Hermione looked, asking for help, to Zabini. To whom? Yes yes exactly. Anyone was closer and safer than neurasthenic opposite her.

"Malfoy," the young man hardly understood her silent request, but he decided to take part too: the game of charades was clearly not his fad, "where did you get that she knows?"

"Granger always knows everything, it's Granger's thing" while talking to a friend, he studied hazel eyes, in the full confidence that he was right.

"I lived in a different world for a year, I spent a year on forgetting everything about my friends, enemies, everyone. I ... " - A wrong hand, pressed to the lips, so many have not yet said, cut off further attempts.

"Me, me, me! You have to remember, Granger, you have to, and that's it. It would not be difficult for me to break your arm when you touched me on the bed, you wanted to kill, maybe ... or what did you want?" - look like a blade, sharp and sharp. - "Why, fucking hell, I tolerate you, turn on the brain. You're the thread, the last thread, break this off and I will fall. All fall."

He lowered his hand and breathed as if driven into his own helplessness. Just like that, he has just said in person what he thinks, and she wanted, she wanted to say everything too, but she did not know how.

The state of decisive mutual alienation. So furious that Zabini could feel, he could, but the only thing he wanted was despite all the crazyness about the stone and some other thing that Granger supposedly used to have: they can change everything. All this does not seem idiocy, but the right way out.

"We have no choice," the mulatto spoke first, breaking the viscous silence. "You must return to Manor and find that letter, or the three of us can count on a quick death at sunrise. Because everything else will not make sense," - a calm voice surprised all three and the only one who, perhaps, did not understand, was Granger.

"You have already made your choice," the arrogance in this phrase is so inappropriate, but she can't help it.

"Perhaps the most extraordinary thing that I will do before I pull out your spine, I ask,"

"No. To any question ..."- parted lips wanted to say a lot, but did not have time.

"The timeturner, where is it?"

Granger expected any question, any nasty, disgusting and unbearably disgusting, but not this. Why does he need a timeturner, how did he know about him ...

"Big mouth-Weasley, of course," after reading her dumb question, he gave a very truthful answer.

"I don't have it anymore. In any case, you want to get something, without giving me any idea why you need it. Ridiculous. If you really ... "

"Tell me where it is, I'm going to figure it out sooner or later. Let's try to simplify the scheme, crossing out the screams, tears, torture ... although the latter is more likely a plus. Or do you like it?" He twisted his neck, shaking off fatigue from useless conversations.

Hermione knew that even if she wanted to say, she could not. Last time, Ginny had the timeturner and tell Malfoy about her, meant to write out the death sentence to a friend. Although the fact that she is still alive, there was little confidence.

"Fuck you ..." - A few steps back, resting his back on the door of salvation.

"Yes, please get the fuck out of here." - Fingers in the forearm to the crappy pain, and the stairs to the first floor. Past the stunned Henry, not paying any attention to the cries of Zabini, who was running behind, to a call for common sense and an order to turn off this brutality.

"Get out of my house, you fucking know-it-all." Again gray eyes, no sea, only a deep hurricane that kills all the inhabitants.

One jerk opening the door, so that it almost falls off its hinges. The light that hits the eyes, the first light which is not through the window grille, the first breath which is not through the window. The black fence, which protected the house from outside visitors, is huge, twice as high. Threateningly massive.

"Stay here without a wand, home and friends. For all you are a rag and a relic of the past."

His fingers pushed Hermione so hard that she falls on the wet asphalt, squeezing her knees into the gravel, immediately feeling ripped skin and blood on her palms. Rain, the first rain for new her. Insecure and worthless her, no no no ...

Malfoy turns his back. The last person who knows that who is she. Former Gryffindor, former of the Golden Three. The only one who remained in this world. Congratulate yourself with the past, quite past in your life

"You don't understand a damn thing, you don't feel what I carry in my heart, not a bit, not a hint of it," so loudly that the sound of rain became inaudible.  
He wanted to walk away, leaving her on the pavement, so bad and useless. And now he stood at the fence, still feeling his gaze on his back, in the impossibility of moving.

"It hurts me. Breathing hurts, watching, talking, living hurts. Because I do not deserve it, I must die in return, and they must live, all live. Everything is on my shoulders, every death on my shoulders presses into the ground ..."- the speech is interrupted by sobs, the face is soaked either from tears or from rain. The sky also suffers from watching them.

He does not want to turn in her direction. A glance at the black dress, black eyes, hair, one continuous gloomy lump on the pavement in front of his legs.

"You're right, I do not understand this ..." - scornful look, he is disgusted by such Granger, so pathetic. Of all the dead whom he had seen, she was dead among the dead.

"You did it, that yours ... It's easier to die, easier to do it yourself ..." - incoherent, but caustic truth.

She shouted so loudly that he had to look around to see if the curious were not popping out of the windows.

"Close ... your ... mouth," - hopeless exhalation in her direction, which is not heard. She, probably, did not hear anything or anyone at all, only her merciless howl, which tormented his exhausted hearing.

Hermione wanted to say something, but a sob escaped from her lips, and her body trembled with overwhelming fear, anger and tears that caused a burning hatred for herself.

A clear feeling that he needs to shake her up, that if she wanted to leave, then she would have already left, but now she is lying around here, playing on his small soul, which has not yet given up to the end.

"Get up ... Granger, get up, it's pathetic."

 _No, it's you, you are the idiot here, shitty as hell._ The hand reaches out to her and immediately receives a reciprocal hand, with one effort she is already standing in front of him, just as pathetic.

He wraps her head in his hands and presses to himself, mentally turning in a circle, hearing the crunch of each vertebra.

"I will never understand how you feel, never ..."

Zabini remained standing in the hallway, mentally dismembering either Malfoy or Granger. And why his future depends on some kind of ... first Potter, now this. Why the rest of the faculties in general, if the whole world turns around them, and his life is even more so?

The door opened with one push, and on the threshold these two appeared. Malfoy walked in first, pointing at the living room with one glance and passing by. Hermione immediately rushed up the stairs.

 _How great they have worked out the system of ignore._

"Bloody house and bloody inhabitants," Blaise said as loudly as possible so they both could hear. Those who blew his brains out and forgot to return everything in place.

Malfoy, all wet and chilled, plunged onto the sofa, his head thrown back and eyes closed. Drops of water obsessively and methodically dropped on the pants.

"Did you convince her?" - Mulat sat down from him as far as possible, afraid to even smell the damp clothes.

"She convinced herself." - Turning his head toward a friend, and a look that says everything for him.  
"I'm glad your pride didn't let your own plan fly to Tartarus. To be honest, you're overreacting her.. There are two options: true, kill her immediately, and yours, endure and accept. She will turn out all the insides, I see."

The blond man closed his eyes again and grunted, expressing deep disagreement, but deceiving himself caused a hard attack of bitterness.

"There is so much of her bitter trash in my lungs that I can't stay here for more than a minute."

Zabini was silently understanding. Sympathy always came to him at the wrong moment, but nothing could be done about it. They could never help each other with a word, because they did not know whether such assistance was possible, whether it made sense.

"Malfoy, if you want, I ..."

"I need to leave now."

"If you want it that way ..." - It was only he who could understand at a glance such a complex person.

This method of calming seemed monstrous to Zabini, for him every murder was something that must be endured and overpowered. Therefore, he will lose a little if he passes the new victim into the hands of the one who asks.

"Who you must kill today? Can I ... ?"


	9. Chapter 9

All his troubles always began in the morning and were expressed in unexpected guests who rarely dared to call on him. But if this happened, he became grumpier with every extra minute of their presence.

She is about thirty, tall and skinny.

"Tomorrow at midnight. I almost don't know you, but I remember your father, he willingly received guests in Malfoy Manor, so you should ..." - A woman walked to the window, having reached the interlocutor. - "No need to look at me like that, I know that you are very private person but this is not discussed."

He stands to the left of the brunette. He knows he makes her feel awkward, Draco can see how she flinches from the movement of his hands, eyes, phrases. That they were afraid of his revenge was brutally nice and correct.

"You act boldly, coming to my house and asking for another." - He stares at the woman.

The daughter of a close friend of the mother, with her he had to spend five years of childhood. Fortunately, he was small and did not have time to become attached to her, because it was easier to hate a stranger.

"Do not look at me like that." – She repeats, her hands are pulling the brooch on the dress.

"Come back tomorrow. I will prepare the house for your visit"

"Really? .." the woman's tongue faltered from what she had heard and she finally looked into his eyes.

"Wait. Did you expect to hear Avada Kedavra?" - The last one sounded like a hateful whisper, and a grin began to play in his eyes.

The mere mention of this spell from his mouth delivered fear, and she forgot how to breathe.

"I will kill you later, Astolia, maybe tomorrow," he left the room, without saying a word.

/

Granger stood in the pantry, praying to each brush to get out of here as quickly as possible. If on the first floor everything is riddled with rats, what can be expected from such a place?

If after a minute he does not open the door, she will wait until he returns and stick a broomstick in his stomach. Squeezing her back into an uncomfortable stepladder, she squeaked, covering her mouth with her palm.

The door opened suddenly, she could not hear any footsteps, just the click of the lock and the crack of light.

"Did you like it there? The most suitable place for you. The mop is among their own. Personal kingdom."

"Just shut up"

"Unconvincing" - He shut the door right in front of her nose and smugly pressed his head against the white wood.

"Hey" - Hermione was pounding on the door. - "Open immediately!"

The only problem for him was the one that is now behind the door but now there is another problem

"Are you still here?" - She pressed her ear to the door, trying to hear what was going on the other side.

"You said shut up. You're so changeable" From the side it looked like a madman's conversation, so he had to open the door and see the angry Granger face. For a second, he even regretted it.

"You are so ..." she tried to find the word, but she had doubt whether Malfoy would ignore her or an inadequate jerk would turn on and lock her again.

He looked defiantly, anticipating the continuation of the altercation, and prepared to improvise, hoping to get under the skin and hurt her vanity.

Zabini flew into the room, like a hurricane, he took the leaflets from the table and looked inquiringly at his friend, fiddling with a letter in his hand, which apparently had something significant inside. Malfoy was not surprised, so it's easy to guess that he is aware of the content.

"In general, as you already understood from this nice invitation," he snatched a black envelope out of the hands of the guy "we have some problems, Zab."

"Your head or the stomach?"

"What?"

The blond carefully examined the letter and ran over the text briefly:

It seemed to him that he is about to throw up now, and he crumpled the envelope in his hand:  
 **A friendly meeting for all deserving of the position in the circle of the Dark Lord. Malfoy Jr. invites you to his mansion and will be able to attend the whole evening, which will allow you to enjoy the true ...**

"Where should I hit you? Shitty you. Why? How could you agree to this?" - his friend was seething with tension, his face contorted with indignation.

"God, you're touching! My head, please, in about five minutes, when I tell you that no one asked me about the decision, but I was confronted with this fucking fact."

"Everything will take place in Manor, which means that Granger will not be lucky to see them. Everything will be alright then" – Zabini gradually began to get himself under control.

Malfoy measured him with a look that expressed "stand in line for the brain" and swallowed inappropriate words that could ruin an already deadly position.

"Well. And you will dig up Parkinson and put in a chair, I understand correctly?"

Zabini paused, not finding the answer in his head and angrily looked at his friend with an inner cry of "shut up, there are ears." The blond responded instantly and looked at Hermione, whom he had forgotten for about five minutes. Perfect five minutes.

"What if ..." Blaise went up to the girl and made sure that she was not as useless as his friend tried to reassure all three of them in this room, including himself.

"No"

"Yes Yes"

"Go home, I do not even want to listen to what you are going to say. Immediately no."

Hermione looked at Malfoy, then Zabini, with a desire to stab both.

"It is quite logical, it is unprofitable for us not to use it. You have been living with her for almost a month and sleeping ..." - Malfoy's eyes after each word were rounded off so much that surprise turned into rage. "I mean ... you mean you trust to trust. Therefore, polyjuice potion will help us return Parkinson for a while."

" What?!"Hermione and Draco said at once.

"Come on, Malfoy, I know that you carefully keep everything in case of need, it is a necessity. And your paranoid passion for school potions will help you now."

The guy listened to his friend carefully, wondering why he couldn't have come to that. But no, it's simple, because he can't survive even three minutes with the resurrected Pansy, also with Granger's soul, it's easier to tell Voldemort to fuck off. The effect is the same, deadly and insane.

"I have a condition." - The girl finally decided to take part in the conversation and drew the views of approving brown eyes and indignant gray-blue at herself.

"And who told you that I agree?" – Draco said.

"Two against one, your consent is not needed." – Zabini considered with the opinion of a friend, perhaps it was more important than his own. But now either he takes everything into his own hands, or ... - "What is your condition?"

"After that, I need to give a sign that I'm alive to my friends." - The guys shocked looked at each other in disbelief, she noticed it and added. - "Just see them, nothing else."

Hermione is able to understand how huge and wild a mistake she makes, agreeing to become the one whose name is even disgusting to pronounce. But the reward that could wait for her afterwards outweighed common sense and gave a kick to unnecessary feats. Her hands began to sweat, and she wiped them on her dress, trying to look as confident as possible.

"Just to see," Malfoy laughed hysterically and repeated once more, "just to see. Just surrender us. Just die, and not only we can die but also the Potter remnants. Are you a fool? No, you are a fool. Why ask?"

"Draco," she said as gently as possible, to keep calm in the conversation.

"One more time you say so, I will break your neck."

"Draco," Blaise mimicked and smiled faintly, thanks to which he caught two lightning-fast glances. "Well, Granger, I'll arrange it. I will try, but I can not promise. If something goes wrong tomorrow, there will be no one to arrange a meeting with."

"I will succeed" Hermione walked closer to them than she normally would, showing profound confidence and no fear.

Malfoy grunted and, pushing her to the side, walked to the locker hanging above the table. With one hand movement, he opened it and in front of the eyes of his guests opened the view of hundreds of flasks with herbs, potions, incomprehensible blends. Long fingers rearranged the jars with incredible speed, but in the same neat sequence as they stood before his touch. Finding the necessary, he put the flask on the table in front of the eyes of the watchers and closed the locker.

"The potion is ready, tomorrow you will take it," hope sounded in his voice that she would jump off this topic and come to senses, but he was mistaken.

Hermione nodded eagerly, anticipating a meeting with one of her friends. Someone had to stay alive, definitely. She little worried about the rest things. Even the room began to seem more pleasant to Hermione, the mere thought of meeting some friends made her feel better.

Malfoy noticed her joy. She can feel many emotions but just not happiness. He _cannot stand it_

"Aren't you afraid there will be poison instead of potion?" - his smile rushed to the darkened face of Granger. - "Right. I can not be sure." - He twisted the bottle in his fingers, without looking away from the brown eyes. Blaise grabbed it from friend's hands and left the room, leaving alone those who least wanted it.

/ 

Time passed slowly, forcing Malfoy to get nervous from inaction and Granger to go from side to side. If they only talk with each other the wait would not have seemed so painful. But he preferred a good book than communication with her and Granger could have preferred Malfoy even a piece of dust, looking at which, she spent about five minutes standing in one place.

Hermione climbed onto a chair and threw her feet on a stool next to her, exposing her legs, but not paying any attention to it. Malfoy noticed that her steps were no longer heard, so it was meaningless to portray a diligent reading of the book, and, looking up, found her in such a position, on his favorite chair, such an unloved Granger. A dissatisfied glance slid over bare legs and stopped at thin ankles. He unconsciously slammed the book.

How this infuriated slackness enrages him, Malfoy carefully coughed, drawing attention to himself.

No reaction from the girl followed, she just reached out and deliberately scanned the entire room with her eyes, avoiding the chair with him.

His hand jerked to a glass of water next to him and, taking one small lazy sip, he threw it toward the girl, smacking the wall, giving a booming death to crystal glass, but this did not prevent him from adding his annoyance out loud:

"You could have caught it with your head, tomorrow we will die anyway."

The fragments hit her hair, and the effect of surprise made her lose the gift for words and she couldn't squeeze anything out of herself except for the hated hiss.

"I have one more glass, if you don't talk to me, I'll use it too, be sure. Do you think Zab will be upset when he sees you with a broken head?"

Hermione was breathing heavily, biting her tongue to the point of frenzy just to say nothing to him.

All of a sudden because of the silence she started feeling real uncomfortable. Hermione knew that he would not be able to kill her, even if he wanted to, he could not even hurt her bad because he needed her, because their common life depended on her. She knew this, and what she knows infuriated him even more.

Retaining an impenetrable expression, he left the room, heading to Zabini, leaving scattered glass, his hatred, and Granger.

/ 

Still nothing had to resist as much as the upcoming meeting with the past. He tapped his knuckles on the lacquered table, not realizing it.

His eyes drift across the room, he thinks he became a loose cannon .

Time went slower than allowed, consciousness deepened in the pity party, and it terribly annoyed the already restless thoughts. The creak of the door, the steps of others behind him, but he will not turn, no, he is not ready. Just not now.

"Malfoy," the voice was husky, interrupted by the disagreeable Granger notes. Cough. "Malfoy," is now a familiar, familiar voice.

Surname, but not just a surname, in such a voice she delivered to him an irresistible prick in his fingers, which once concerned the owner of an identical voice.

"Does not sound the same" - He took a breath through clenched teeth and turned to the object of fear, not daring to raise his eyes and looking at the carpet, on which the bare feet of the interlocutor stood.

"I have not yet seen myself in the mirror, but I feel vile, self-satisfied and cheeky, did I accurately convey all the qualities of this body?" 

Intentional neglect in her voice allowed her to pull Malfoy out of his daze and catch the look that expressed his feelings. Yes, she is damn similar, as if he should have expected another result. Now he faces a recently killed and an unloved girl, the one he wants to kill again and again.

Zabini flew into the room, shining from the result and looking at Granger with a completely different look than the disgruntled one at the table.

"Give her a briefing on Parkinson as much as possible," the coldness in the tone of the blond made him believe in his own growing sense of self-control, and he continued. - "Without using such words as: sex, fucking, exorcism, and what else specifically describes this shell."

"Hardly anyone will be able to tell her this better than you..." Blaise stopped himself because there was no one to talk to back, he heard the slamming door that hid Malfoy's back.

Hermione was examining her body and trying to get used to it while Zabini was doing the same, staring at her either with sympathy, or with mournful regret that she would never truly be able to see her childhood «friend». Even the crappy one.

"Well, then let's start. You are, in general, well acquainted with the qualities of our common-dead acquaintance."

Hermione recalled all her awkward meetings with the Slytherin gang inside the school and all the negative qualities that the world knows, she could fit into this brunette, whom she had to become for some time.

"You did not see Malfoy decisively long ago. No one knows that you betrayed him, no one knows that you broke up."

From that moment on, it became interesting to listen, and she already left her own enthusiasm for her own thoughts; instead, she drew all-consuming attention and tenacious memory to his speech because each word depended on whether she would live until the next morning or not quite.

"You should not hang on him ..."

"You shouldn't worry about it." - From even such a thought, she shivered, and she remembered that not a single guy had even received from her a weighty sign of attention, and now she will have to hit on guys .

"Listen. This is a necessary condition, but I do not think that he can withstand it. After the death of his parents, you are the least consolation in his life and all he wants is your death, long-lasting and painful, more precisely, not yours but Pansy. So do not forget about in whose body you are and that he just can forget it. And we do not need to expose ourselves, and you don't want your death to happen too."

The blood flowed to the temples, with anxiety dizzy. _After the death of the parents._ The horror of this phrase really overwhelmed her.

Zabini noticed that something was wrong with her and stopped his further explanation of the circumstances, realizing that he had spoken too much. But what exactly ...

"I ... I understood everything, I will do everything in my power, I had experience with reincarnations into worse Eaters," she managed to control herself and looked like usual Hermione.

When Blaise left the room, she saw a chair, on which was a bundle of her new things that had to be changed: a bag with nonsense for women and a flask with reusable potion, allowing you to stay in this body for the right amount of time.

Two feelings were languishing in her, and what was more, shame or regret is difficult to understand. And in the compartment, this mixture became so nuclear that she having ceased to control herself for a second, wanted to rush into the room to Malfoy, strike into the teeth and demand to tell everything he carefully concealed.

Tying the last lace on an uncomfortable corset, she tried to get out of her mind the thoughts about the death of other and "not deserving to live," parents according to her own words, so diligently that she didn't notice how she pulled the corset to inability to breathe.

 _It's only for one evening, everything will be fine_ , with trembling fingers, she touched her long hair and went to the mirror. In the reflection she saw bitchy person with a tenacious gaze and expressive cheekbones. But only in the face she can see the fatigue and soullessness that is characteristic of every Death Eater. The reflection smiled and from someone else's uncontrollable facial expressions became uncomfortable.


	10. Chapter 10

If she wanted to evaporate once on the very place where she had to stand, today it would be most welcome. Stepping through the fireplace, she caught a dozen stares, each of which stabbed a knife into the body.

The corset squeezed the ribs to such an extent that they could wipe the lungs into powder. Hermione caught her heel in the carpet and she almost flew face to the floor if she wasn't grabbed by a strong hand.

"Fine, let's start right away with failure," Malfoy said so softly that she could only read his lips.

 _Just pull yourself together. You can. When your life depends on it, you have to._ This thought stimulated her, and she, throwing back her smooth hair back, smiled with a corner of her lips, portraying the most contemptuous smirk that was peculiar to Pansy, perhaps, it came out even much colder.

"Good evening" - Zabini came up first and examined her with an appraising glance, according to which she concluded that the image completely coincides with the original, and was able to calmly exhale as much as the corset allowed.

The black dress was long and at the same time fucking short. Yes, Pansy was able to combine everything incompatible. The back slit fell down with soft silk and touched the middle of the heel, and the front hem seemed so short that it barely covered the middle of the thigh and if it was her body, she would die of shame.

The huge living room contained in itself four dozen Eaters, she could admit that she had seen many of them more than once and regretted that she did not have a magic wand.

Hermione walked over to the table with the drinks and took a glass of water. Sweaty fingers slid along the glass, and on the shoulders weighed the load of an unsure girl who was drowning under Parkinson's mock confidence. Zabini's eyes pierced the object behind her, an object called Malfoy, her Malfoy. The killer, with whom she shares the bed, breathes at night with one hot air, touches his body and allows him to control herself, a similar idea drove her into disgust and fear. She realized that everyone was looking at her. Apparently, expecting that at the meeting she behaves differently than throwing away his hand and moving away to the side.

Turning to him and almost touching his raised chin, hoping to avoid his touch, she didn't read anything like that on his face, it seemed he was even happy about this behavior. But because of the captivating closeness to her enemy, the girl automatically pulled back. Sometimes his complacency led a dangerous game with life. Fear leads to failure.

A silent plea for no one to hear her heart beating loudly, but one person in the hall felt distinctly and it was Malfoy. All his insides were burned by the desire to pull out this organ of life, so that the familiar body went limp and fell like a bag of rot.

Granger stretched out her long arms and laid them on his tense shoulders, pulling him closer, cheek to cheek, inhaling the smell of cold body, gunpowder and perfume. Ron never used perfume, she was not accustomed ... Scarlet lips whispered in his ear, pretending that the words were passionate:

"Erase your indulgent expression, otherwise they will kill us before I take a step back," - she said it gently, through a smile, and both of them understood that whispering into the ear, was a necessary maneuver from her side, although this action delivered a portion of anger all over his body.

He looked at Hermione and saw only Pansy, everyone in the room ceased to exist, losing texture and color. And the worst thing he has already imagined how he would take his wand and …

Hermione, who has now become taller, could look into his eyes without raising her head, and read disgust at them perfectly which she was used to seeing to a certain degree, but this time there was something different in it. Something brutal, sharp, into the very depths.  
It turns out his view, expressing the full wasteland, may be different, strikingly different. She turned around and the Eaters made a sharp effort over themselves, engaging themselves in conversations and tearing their eyes away from her.

Malfoy disappeared from sight as quickly as she moistened her lips with a glass of water to wash away the touch to someone else's body, feeling betrayed by the fact that her lips remembered the coldness of Malfoy's skin.

Hermione shoes were terribly uncomfortable and it felt like her feet were on fire, while their owner just stood near the fireplace and showed with all her appearance that everyone was indifferent for her. Zabini kept an eye on her all the time, as if fearing that she would jump on the table and scream who she is.

A tall man was walking toward her, looking at her legs and occasionally looking at her face, as if her body was dismembered, and at the bottom was the most interesting part of it. It was not hard to understand that Parkinson is a girl of not moral behavior, but to correspond to this for the sake of an imaginary promise to Malfoy is too much. She abruptly rushed into the company of five Eaters standing against the wall and darkly discussing something, then hiding behind a gray column, headed to the other side of the hall.

 _How silly is that? Cat-and-mouse and I am one mouse among the hungry rippers._ She has already regretted everything and wanted to find Zabini, so that he would at least explain what kind of guy went to her purposefully and what kind of woman who often obsessively looks in her direction, and what kind of ...

Head over heels, the moment she saw the photography hanging in the darkest place behind the column. Almost at the entrance to another room. After scratching the dust, she spotted the one Malfoy she remembered in the second year of school. Mother and father are on either side of him, gently hugging their son. Narcissa's eyes expressed maternal love, and the face of Lucius - unbearable pride in his son. Those who she tried to forget after what happened in this very house looked at her. Only now she realized that it was here that she could die when all three of them stood and watched how their relative bullied her. A bitter lump formed in her throat, and she tried to chase away those memories.  
Alive, with beating hearts, looked at her in ways they never allowed themselves to look at the mudblood in their home. Leaving the magical world, she forced herself to believe that when a person dies, the soul evaporates and bursts like a soap bubble. Nothing remains, only a miserable shell, rotting for several years without a trace.

It was easier because she left Harry, left the dead and cold. Hermione did not bury him, could not take a step to see the face of the deceased, it was easier to think that he had disappeared. Just went out and forgot to return, forever. But if now a friend is watching her despite the hopes that this is not so, then she is terribly ashamed of herself. To betray the already dead Harry meant to spit on their friendship, to pound themselves in his pit called "disappointment."

Someone came up from behind and leaned the palm against the wall a few inches from the frame with the portrait.

"Interesting, right?" - instant hit by a voice, as if the guy from the smiling photo came out and stood behind her.  
Hermione could not turn and look at him, since he did not provide such an opportunity, holding her between the wall and his body. The turn meant that she would have to face his face, it was not part of the plans. Judging by the voice it was clear that he had no emotions towards this portrait or he hopes to hide them, in full confidence that no one knows anything about the death of the Malfoys.

"I look and think what a distortion on your face?" - She ran her fingers over his image and hit her fingernail on the place of his smile. She was irritated to no end from the fact that he always so drastically deprived her own space.

He did not bother her with the answer and after a couple of minutes of awkward silence, she decided to leave him alone with his dead parents. Maybe he is not a lost cause.

Granger grabbed the firewiskey and drank two glasses in a row, but the intoxication did not come.

"Listen, I haven't seen you for a long time," a squeaky voice slammed into her ears, and she almost dropped the glass, which she pressed to her lips for more than a minute, considering the reflection in the silver bowl.

A short, green-eyed blonde demanded close attention because she was obviously a friend of Parkinson, and this made it difficult for Hermione to be around.

 _Thank you, Malfoy, for the detailed instructions._ After taking a big sip and putting the glass on the nightstand, Hermione had to answer sooner or later.

"Sorry, I ... I didn't have time," she caught changes in the face of the interlocutor immediately after the word "forgive" and added, "sometimes time can be spent with much greater benefit than ..." the coldness in the gaze was typical of Parkinson , so she just led it through the blonde, mentally cutting her in half.

"I understand," the blonde pointedly fixed her gaze on Malfoy and tried to smile, showing with her whole face that she was aware of their relationship, waiting for a detailed story.

"I doubt it ..." Parkinson's voice gave the answer a nasty color, but in Granger's thoughts there was only sadness.

"Why didn't you answer my letters?" I have not been able to contact you for several weeks.

Hermione didn't know what to say. Start with the fact that her friend is long dead and the very Malfoy, on whom the blonde had placed so much hope in their relationship, was a direct or indirect killer.

"Why don't you write to Malfoy, if you are so sure that I was with him?" - she herself did not believe in what she said and took a sip of firewiskey.

"What are you saying? .." the girl went into a whisper, "it's only you who are allowed to talk to him like that, and if I — well, why should you explain — you know everything." Although we are friends, but my life is dearer to me, I thought that he did bad things to ..." -The blonde turned pale, but immediately came to balance, smiled, realizing that she was mistaken. - "There were rumors".

 _You were not mistaken._

"What makes you ..." she shrugged at the coldness of her own voice, "us, are afraid of someone who previously did not command respect and was the weakest.

"You're funny today". - The girl patted her on the shoulder and regarded this question as a joke.

"I think we shouldn't intersect anymore ..." the company's unnatural laughter from the right interrupted Hermione and she had to look back at them.

"Let's go to. You need to unwind, you're kind of weird today".

Granger wanted to refuse, but the girl grabbed her elbow and persistently pulled aside five young men and two women, who, at their sight, began to discuss something louder. How she wanted her ears to lose their ability to hear, but phrases about the murder and laudatory remarks from all sides tore her apart. A little more and she will not be able to remain silent, a little more and she will twist her neck so as not to be involved in this discussion. Her new acquaintance smiles mischievously and looks at her in anticipation of some kind of replica or approving nod. It seems that Parkinson was not averse to profit from such stories and throw a couple of her own.

Hermione, waiting for help, silently threw a pleading look towards Malfoy, who noticed this and because of his own stubbornness, pointedly started a conversation with a red-haired woman, and so unexpectedly that she turned pale from a sudden appeal and clutched the wall with her hand.

"And if tomorrow they tell you to kill each other?" - All eyes turned to her and there was a burning silence. It was so damn typical for Granger, to stand out and get into the very ass of this situation.

"In terms of? " - Blonde grabbed her arm.

"If tomorrow they tell me to break your neck, what do you think I will do?" - the girl loudly swallowed and, without stopping, looked at the pseudo-Parkinson. "I will come to you at night and slowly grab your fragile bones with my fingers, feeling each vertebra, turning them slowly, following orders," she bit her lip contentedly and enjoyed the looks full of fear.

This is how, at a time, she tore out their joy and drew what they carefully tried not to remember, and deny.

"I thought so. You all are too weak".

Hermione turned on her heels and slowly walked around the room, sat in back chair hearing a whisper in the back. The mood did not improve, but pride sang her song. A simple person also has his own magic, this is the magic of the word, with the help of which you can wound and trample. Hermione has someone she could learn from.

She has glanced at the clock, needs to hold out for about thirty minutes. Later she noticed Malfoy in the hall, who leaned against a gray wall, looked at the firewiskey, from boredom almost ready to start a conversation with a glass . If someone was honored by his gaze, it was at the level of "What is the dirt under my feet." Nothing to do with that photo, now he has the stone face of an inanimate person.

The black suit was sitting perfectly, a blue shirt could be seen under the jacket, the collar of which was unnaturally evenly smoothed, the gloomy colors made the already pale skin of frightening. Eyes studied his wrists, family cufflinks on the sleeves, apparently inherited from his father.

A stranger man, who was walking across the hall to her, suddenly plunged into the chair next to and scanned the girl with a look full of questions. Hermione had to tear her attention away from a more interesting object that she wanted to poison, to a boring and flat object.

"You're strange, Pans."

"Why?" - She twitched in the place and straightened her back.

"If you think Malfoy will notice us ... This is stupid. He sees nothing further than his work. I just wanted to talk. "

She grinned, amusing herself that the magnificent Malfoy was cheated by his own girlfriend and he did not know anything about it, believing in his superiority even above the inconsistency of Parkinson.

"Let's talk". - She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed fingertips, absolutely not looking in his direction.

"Do you want to die right here?" - His hand awkwardly tried to break free, but he didn't try too hard, looking around in hopes that no one would notice.

"You know, to some extent I'm already dead". - She turned her face to her opponent and pressing her chin to the shoulder, smiled tightly.

"You're crazy". - His eyes were stuck on bare legs, to the decency for a long time, and he did not try to hide it. Then his attention turned to Malfoy, and his face stretched into a jubilant smile. As if he threw Avada into the back of the Eater without paying anything in return.  
"Do you like crazy ones? Have you been sleeping with me for a long time?" - She crossed her legs, feeling a sharp attack of nausea because of the person sitting next to her and because of her own body.

"You are drunk. You need to rest".

"You take me to the bedroom of Malfoy's parents and fuck me on their bed?" - incomprehensible anger on own body and the fact that he does not deny any of her words said that Parkinson did just that. By betraying Malfoy, she also cheated on him physically. She is absolutely sure that she has no right to feel pity for this family, but she is unable to ruin her sensitivity even under the circulating potion.

"What are you talking about ..." an awkward smile and his thumb stroking her wrist, obviously not just a friendly touch.

"About how Malfoy used a used toy," Hermione said this louder than reasonable and the Eaters standing nearby turned their gaze to them, which made the brunet blush and finally pull out his hand.

"What are you saying, Parkinson," an awkward chuckle broke from her lips, but Granger covered. She wanted revenge on absolutely everyone and started out small.

"What is it like to know that you are sleeping with the girl, that is the favorite for the person who can kill you right now" - She jumped to her feet and barely stood on the heels but did not look away from the angry guy.

"You're out of mind". - He tried to get up, but her palm pushed him back into the chair, blocking the way. The brunette was reaching for the wand, and then she almost realized that she was being foolish, but to show it meant to open her fear to everyone.

Her wild laughter tore up the last pieces of Granger inside, and it seems the body acquired not only habits but Parkinson's mind, a mind-blowing madness that could ruin everyone now, including herself.

"I think he's going to be sick when he finds out ..."

"Almost," a petrified voice hit in the back.

The flow of her phrases was cut off by one word, and she, not daring to turn around, stands still

"Get out of my house."  
The noise in the hall stood from the light music and the din of those present, but after a loud phrase everyone was taken aback and froze.

Their eyes meet for a second and in Malfoy's eyes silent rage is read. Panic cold runs through her back.

"I do not want to repeat. You got up and went to hell, everyone". - He took out his wand from his pocket but kept it down.

The first to get up was the guy who, a minute ago, wanted to get a portion of revenge for Malfoy using Parkinson.

"Reception is over". - He grabbed Granger by the hand and pushed her behind the column. - Thank you for a nice evening, dear friends.

Zabini took a few steps in his direction, trying to say something but Malfoy interrupted him, spitting out:

"You too!"

Then Hermione felt horror, her body was covered with a cold perspiration, and the corset had already completely blocked off all the oxygen so much that she had to grab hold of the wall and stand still. She glanced hopefully at Zabini, but he, without even looking in her direction, moved towards the exit. The last hope had already left and Hermione realized that she almost lost consciousness.

Malfoy gave Pseudo-Parkinson a long look and she felt her cheeks flush but she didn't look away, despite everything, indicating that she didn't care.  
Having pressed his back to the life-saving cold column, on the other side of the lifeless girlfriend, in order not to see her face, he raises his wand up and weakly shouts a spell, which extinguishes the light throughout the house.

They both drowned in the darkness of the room.

Darkness - protection, that can be a shield from your contrived problems and unhealthy psyche. Perhaps, yes, but not for him and not today.

He hit the back of his head on the column and pressed his spine into the marble with such force that the body could grow into the stone, leaving nothing behind. Nothing can console him. His heart was beating on lungs, like that snitch in a damned cage.

The sound of her breathing, the seizure of the general air through her mouth, with her disgusting mouth. Red lips, which previously also captured his lips, tongue, fingers ...

Touching her hand with his own is embarrassing. He found a corset from the third attempt in the dark and teared off the suffocating knots hearing the crackle of fabric and her sob, and then a heart-rending sigh, like the last one in life. He hears her lungs open, her mouth dry, gasping for air, and the rustle of her dress as she runs to the open window, throwing off her shoes, slapping her bare feet on the floor, almost falling out of the window sill.

Just do not look. It's the first time when the moon seems unnecessary and superfluous, it could show a forgotten face, the last thing he wanted was to touch his past. It is impossible to endure, the whole evening is a torture of the remnants of his soul. Those remnants that he carefully shores and just doesn't want to show to her.

This is Granger, just Granger.

Never in his life Draco wanted to feel the Mudblood next to him. But the potion was still working, he did not see, he felt. Eyes in stone, in darkness and emptiness.

As one's own footsteps are heard from the vacuum, they are distributed around the deserted hall and hit on self-control.

Stop, he said, stop. In the dark Malfoy can see only the open window and her silhouette, he bumps into a chair and almost flies to the floor, but he doesn't care. It is possible to fall and hit his head on the edge of the table, maybe it will make him stop.

He stands near her. He closes his eyes for a second and then stares at Pseudo-Parkinson. A brunette girl with disheveled hair, in a torn corset, bare legs, rubbed to the bone, and a cut palm, the blood from which flows through the fingers, right into the parquet. How did she manage to cut her palm he didn't know, but it's Granger's thing to dirt everything around her.

"Granger, stop dirtying my house."

An improbable tone of neglect, a husky name pronounced, as if everything inside resists to call this body so ... so foolish.

"I'm Parkinson," there was nervousness in her voice . "You never came over the whole damn evening to help ... as if it was me who was to blame for death ... I needed help, at least presence." _I'm at the lowest point of my life_ \- she switched to a scream, and he echoed around the room, hitting both. - "I needed your presence. Did you help me?" - Bloody hand is across his face from temple to chin, leaving a wet red smear, as if the artist had spoiled a beautiful portrait. She was sick to look at his perfect face.

Get it.

His fingers slid carelessly in the traces of blood on his own face, and Draco carefully examined the red abomination, exposing his fingers to the light of the moon. His face turned to stone, not expressing either disgust or anger. With the same fingers, he grabbed the window frame and looked the girl in the eyes.

"Tell me, Parkinson, fucking Parkinson, why did you allow yourself to touch that bastard?"

Stupor. Draco had just almost felt her dirty blood, felt it with her hand, let him mess himself, she might have hit his lips and he could feel her taste. And he asks about ...  
"I don't have any poison that I could put in firewhiskey, or my wand, by the way, because of you. And what could I do, throw glasses in them, how you did?" - The Granger notes in the voice were scanty and the emotional strain that overwhelmed her , could not be reflected by the timbre of Pans.

"If you feel better about it. Merlin, as if I do not give a shit. I did not know ..." - the voice cracked, and he paused, urging himself to calm. "I knew nothing about them until tonight." - Fingers clenched on the latch window, and Malfoy slammed it with such force that the shutters rattled, barely holding the glass in place.

They both looked out into the street and did not really see anything, digging into each other. Hermione drowns her mind in pity for the Death Eater who killed her parents, to the person who lost his parents before her ... to the scum who killed Ron, to the person who was betrayed by everyone he loved. Man - Death Eater. She had already concluded that he was not worthy of pity but a stupid phrase has already escaped from her mouth:

"I'm sorry…"  
Her frightened eyes followed his reaction, watching his face while he was silent, long and painful. All this time, she stood without making a sound, measuring the distance between them and the ability to jump from the window. His gaze slowly dropped to her hand, bloody hand, wrist, higher ... higher ... higher ... mark.

Only now she is looking at her hand, only now she sees the damned label that she wants to be combed into the blood. Lightning pierced the body, black and stinging, filling everything with acrid smoke.

"This is ..." She put her hand behind her back and looked at the floor.

"This is beautiful ... I think you wanted to say that way." - He grabbed her hand from behind his back and looked at the black drawing, feeling pity and gloating,

conflicting feelings.

"Let go."

He squeezed her hand so hard that Hermione screamed and could not move her hand, in full confidence that she would lose it. Tears flowed from her eyes, dripping onto the mark, flowing slowly to the floor. This is clearly not the tears of pain, these are the tears of that she soiled herself for almost a day with this filth

But Malfoy still thought that this shit was caused by a touch, and abruptly freed her hand, waiting for those nasty sobs to end. Otherwise, he has to personally clean the floor of this abomination.

"Do you feel sorry for me?"

Malfoy's mouth is obstinately compressed, as if he is trying to hold a goddamn heap of words.

"If you hope that I will give up my words, then nothing. Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry for the pathetic Malfoy" - She had to make an effort, trying not to betray the trembling voice.

"Perfect"

Draco ruined his bloody face with a still grin, she didn't look at him, she just knew. Each cell inside felt that next to her is a moral monster, with whom it was useless to talk, and she turned her back to the window so that their eyes could see different things.

In one second, he is opposite her in wanting to catch his eyes on an embittered face. Hands on both sides of her hips, forcing to squeeze into the window sill and shrink back, Hermione hits the back of her head against the glass, just not to find his face so close to hers.  
"Have pity on me, Parkinson. Catch him and fuck."

She literally heard how tense he was. He smelled of alcohol and anger, yes, the smell of anger is something salty in the air when you start to feel depressed and fragile.

They stood in the dark and stared into each other's eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere. Get away from me."

His hand went up, and she, pressing even more into the glass, closed her eyes, her breathing stopped. Knuckles on her cheek, almost not touching.

"Please, let's go back home. Bring me home, Malfoy," - the husky in her voice gave way to Granger's insistence and she slowly opened her eyes to look at his hand.

"At the cemetery? You have many friends there. You know, I sometimes want to go there myself. But not with you."

"Please."

The girl tried to turn away her face and grabbed his hand to remove, to deprive her body of unpleasant contact.

Get the hell out of here, repeating her gaze.

"Look into my eyes."

After this phrase, an invisible fist slammed into his lungs, and Draco began to choke. Likewise, he said Parkinson when he last saw her alive and was refused ... if, if she didn't look, he was absolutely certain that he would kill her.

But Granger fulfilled the request, lightning fast, even for herself.

"What do you want?"

His eyes were blue, bottomless, a wave of untimely vile heat ran down his belly. At that moment she wanted to go blind, she dreamed.

"Kiss me, Parkinson." - The corner of his lips crawled upward, but instantly his face became icy again.

He knows that I am not her. What for? As if this humiliation gives him inexpressible pleasure.

"Get away from me. This is no longer funny, Malfoy. Do you want to kiss the Mudblood?" - the last word she cried out, trying to reach him.

"I want to…"

He pressed against her, feeling her heart beating, feeling the warm breath from his lips. Pressing into her body and pressing into the glass, like a predator pushes the victim between themselves and the cold window sill.

His lips are too close, his body is tense, ragged breath burns her cheek. She tries to suppress a quiet panic attack and opening her mouth to breathe in, shakes her head, barely noticeable, but feels a wild protest.

Long fingers touch her neck, squeezing harder with each passing second, so that she can no longer take a single breath, gasping for breath that treacherously eludes her and the skin under his fingers begins to burn.

The look is petrified, melancholic, straight into her face, eating her pupils and passing through. Dry lips touch her mouth and then nothing happens, just frozen time. And both of them, stiffened like statues. Sticking into each other's eyes, deadly strongly.  
He pulls back slightly, a trace of lipstick remains on his lips, and she seems to be vomiting now. Turn out all the insides that are dirty by him, to death. The heart jumps out through the throat, and it remains without a drop of oxygen, thoughts get confused, and Hermione, deciding to force him to remove his lousy hands from her neck, sharply presses her lips to the edge of his lips and kisses. kisses,that were barely perceptible and so gently that he choked on his saliva and weakened his grip. And then Malfoy's lips enveloped her, owned her. A fire ignited inside as their lips moved felt the blood course through her, hot and thick.

When he pulled away he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, rubs to such an extent that now only bones remain in place of the skin, then for some reason he wipes her lips with his hand, smearing red lipstick on her chin and tilting her head to the side, fingers examine the purple skin after his own touch.

She seems to have died, it was at that moment that she died for herself. Other people's touches border on physical pain, and the girl slowly closes her eyes, falling into shameful emptiness. Feeling the thoughts intertwine into one poisonous knot, and inside there are so many words, so many unspoken words, that she silently exhales them in his face, still feeling how close he is.

"I know everything," she blurted out, looking at the dry lips that touched her face a second ago.

He stopped in confusion and looked gloomily in her eyes, not giving the opportunity to look away. It lasted so painfully long that she lost the ability to breathe again.

Therefore, I am sorry.

His eyes were restless, tired. Just try to regret me, they said. All the blue in them was washed away with gray, prickly ice.

"Keep quiet."

"For what I said about them before, I really am sorry. Do you hear?"

"Don't talk, Granger."

She wanted to say that five minutes ago she was Parkinson for him, but she bit her tongue in time. 


	11. Chapter 11

The morning begins with the fact that she wakes up in a torn dress. Her head is throbbing.

The smell of coffee did not wake her up with its intrusiveness, and she teased herself with the hope that she was alone in the house. Therefore, once again lazily stretched out on the couch and put her feet on the cold floor after much deliberation, called "Tear off the head from the pillow, you will not die from this".

A dress hung on a wooden chair, and there was a large mirror next to it, in which she can see this eerie torn corset and black silk in reflection, as a sign of her own wretchedness.

Reminder of yesterday for her is like a slap in the face. She has such a bad habit, not to blame anyone for the crime, in general, if an earthquake happened somewhere, perhaps she was guilty anyway. Therefore, anger at Malfoy was not there, or rather, Hermione was angry at him as usual, as if he was not with her at all. God, she was lying on Malfoy's couch, it seemed that she even smelled of him.

With one jerk, Granger pulled off the fabric and, without even going to the shower, pulled on her dress, although it was highly doubtful to consider it as her own. Probably, a living person walked wearing it yesterday, who now stands behind her back and curses for theft. However, she did not care, she wanted to wash off other people's hands, but she was afraid. She was afraid that Malfoy could appear at any moment, and walking half-dressed in front of him is humiliating. 

The guest went down to the kitchen, running through two or even three steps, she had a desire to brew her coffee or at least take a sip of water. The main problem for her was to remember nothing that happened yesterday, because if she starts thinking about it - it will break her completely. Hating herself turned out to be much easier than anyone might think, she was now sick not only from Parkinson. In her opinion, she had long ago surpassed the Death Eaters in a set of vile deeds, at least last night for sure.

The windows in the kitchen are tightly curtained, she located the stove in the dark and turned on the fire in order to somehow look at her environment. There was coffee in the cabinet. Immediately pouring it into the turk and putting it on fire, the girl was warmed by the outgoing smell and the heat of the burner.

"I see you slept well," Draco said as she went to the closet and poured a glass of water from a jug. He managed to pronounce it almost like an insult.

Hermione choked on water and began to cough agonizingly for a long time, this lasted for about thirty seconds, but he did not even bother to apologize, but merely looked at her.

"How are you ... How are you here? …" - She groped for a towel and crumpled it in her hands.

"Actually, this is my home, Granger. Do i need to ask your permission?"

He spoke as if nothing had happened last night, as if they had met at Hogwarts for breakfast, although whom she was deceiving. There he would have stuck a fork in her, and now he sat here and watched her doing something in his kitchen, fumbling in the closets. Hermione wanted to fall under the ground and die quietly.

"Could give a sign of life, because I confused you with a stuffed animal for the interior."  
"Coffee." - He frowned at her.

"What? Do you want coffee? Am I your new elf? Do you want with arsenic or gum? I know two good recipes." - She gently folded the towel and hung it on the back of the chair.

"Your coffee ... destroys my stove." - His impenetrable face has not been changing for several minutes.

Hermione followed his indifferent gaze toward the gurgling coffee that spread out on the stove and put out the fire. She rushed to the burner, and immediately turned off one of them, poured coffee into two cups, carefully washed by Henry, apparently, quite recently, because there were drops of water at the bottom. She guesses that Malfoy has not slept all night, but then tries to convince herself that she doesn't not care.  
The girl sat on the left side of Draco and pushed the second cup to his hand, which instantly moved half a meter to the side. And his eyes were on the bandaged arm: blood was visible through the bandage, but yesterday he did not persuade her to heal the wound.

"Did you sleep all night?" - She did not dare to take a sip, still feeling a sore throat from having choked on water.

"Does it matter for you?"

"No"

"Then I did not sleep. Because someone laid on my couch. And I hoped you would die there. But, alas," - he mumbled it in the coffee, taking a sip.

"I performed part of my promise, when you ..." Hermione licked her spoon and gently placed it on the table.

"Are you interested in what I will do now?" - His gaze followed her lips and a spoon that touched the polished table.

"Yes, there is such a moment."

"Well, I'll go to Voldemort, have a couple of greetings with him, ask how Naginea feels, maybe I will let her eat my hand. Maybe." - He looked around the room, as if wondering if he had forgotten something important. "And then I will kill a couple of people, pull a black dress from somebody and make you try to go with me?" Draco raised his spoon from the table with his fingertips and threw it back into the cup of her coffee.

"We had agreed that I would see my friends. I fulfilled my part of the promise, now you have to ... " She caught his eye and grin. - "You do not want to do this?"

"Actually, yes."

Hermione slowly sighes, as if she is talking with a moron. It's interesting, does she know that her word stream makes her companions feel like idiots. Is Hermione purposely training on him? Or rehearsing it on Potter, who decided to die before she stopped.

Potter, if you can hear me. You chose the right path. He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Why are you silent?"

"I was thinking about how I can perfectly shut your mouth ..." - he looked around the kitchen.

"Malfoy."

"Yes?"

"You're a moron, Malfoy. You promised."

"No."

"Your brain is not able to connect more than two words?"

"Solve it with Zabini."

"But you kicked him out yesterday. Or do you offer to go to visit him?" - She rose from the chair, but he grabbed her arm and pushed her into place.

"He will come in the evening and you talk."

"But you ..."

"This is Zabini, Granger. In any case, if he wants to return everything back ..." - Malfoy hesitated and reluctantly grabbed a cup of coffee. - "He will come."

Suddenly, anxiety surged and gave a bad sign to her mind, and, grabbing her coffee mug, she carried it to the sink for some reason, without taking a sip.

"By the way about yesterday. Irrelevant."

He said it in a marginal manner, as if by the way, he forgot to ask what the weather outside was. At this very moment, when she was passing his chair, her fingers, as if petrified, could not hold the cup and the thing smashed to pieces under his feet.

"It's okay," he said dryly. - "This is just a family china."

 _This can only be repaid with Reparo._

She felt his eyes, while standing on her knees, collecting fragments in the hem of her dress, it would be better if he did not look. After removing every single crumb of fragile porcelain, she sat back in place, wringing her hands and confidently saying no more. He drank her coffee, describing it as not the one that failed, but the worst in the history of mankind.

Then she could not tolerate it, took the coffee out of his hands and took a long sip, compared to the heat inside the drink seemed icy. And both of them were in the kitchen, pointedly silently, until he left, and she stayed in the empty apartment with his: "Regarding yesterday. Irrelevant. "

Draco raises the collar of his coat as high as possible and walks on the wet asphalt. The puddles reflect his unhealthily pale face, as a sign of sleepless nights and heavy problems.

He likes this weather, this dampness and cold, when there are no people on the streets, and it seems that the whole world belongs only to him, and there is no Voldemort, there is no work that gives deadly boredom, no her in his own house, in which Draco does not want to go back and no one will drive him crazy, in that case he can be himself. Will enter Manor, see his mother, who made his favorite apple pie, and his father, who stays up late at night in his office. Just because he works, and not because he is a pathetic Death Eater who cannot protect his family.

But then passers-by come across to meet him, and he pulls himself out of the dream world and throws it into the sick real one.

The rain flows between the collar and the shirt. Drops run slowly over the shoulder blades to the lower back, cold and wet. The same vague sensations he had from last night.

 _Perhaps I should have apologized? Should?Now I owe her something? how well you live, Granger. As if you were ever touched by a man . Weasley really attributed to the list of monkeys. You liked it, you definitely liked it, I felt. But now I feel like throwing up. I felt you, Granger, as if I was interested._

He raised his head to the sky. Raindrops greedily bathed his face, clearing his evil thoughts and removing lips of fake Parkinson from his tormented skin.


	12. Chapter 12

A small central coffee shop, free from visitors. There is really nice scent of aromatic coffee and fresh pastries inside, light music plays. The wooden tables are decorated with purple orchids. The smell of food makes Hermione dizzy .

In the morning she had to lose breakfast because of her own stubbornness. Now she starts to beat herself for it. Initially, she said that she wouldn't eat food, cooked by a captive elf, these words had angried Malfoy, and he said that in that case she shouldn't eat at all and should just die and save his braincells.

Morning is not morning for them, if one not wishes a quick death to the other.

So at the coffee shop, she watched Zabini to buy her a cheesecake and a cup of coffee.

"Muggle's food is so good, Malfoy, you have to try it."

Zabini put three cups of coffee and two cheesecakes on the table in front of a friend. Draco gave Blaise a meaningful look and then his long fingers, with disgust, pushed the plate with a white piece of cake toward their annoying companion.

The girl snatched the plate from his hands and deliberately smeared his fingers with whipped cream. There was an absolutely clear feeling that he wished her to be poisoned by this, and he deliberately took a long time to wipe his hands with a napkin, barely restraining himself from throwing a red lump in her face.

Zabini enthusiastically looked at coffee, trying not to notice anything. Taking a small sip, he looked around the room and push the seat closer to the table, as if they were discussing a plan for world domination.

"In general, it was not very difficult to find your friends.I am surprised how they can be so noticeable and at the same time stay alive."

"Zabini, will you come with me?" - The girl was moving the sugar bowl on the table, it was for her nerves, to calm herself.

"I will go with you." - Malfoy took a sip of his drink and set the cup aside as far as possible, in full hatred for all the muggles things.  
Hermione silently turned her gaze at Zabini, that look means _: I can't show them this crazy person, who is ready to kill them all._ But Blaise stared impenetrably at the mug and did not intend to object to a friend.

"And how do you imagine this? Will I bring a potential killer to their house?"

"Listen, do you think I am eager to see these Potter's suckers again?" - His upper lip twisted in genuine disgust.

"Idiocy."

The sugar bowl overturned, and small crystals scattered all over the table, which led Malfoy to even greater horror at being in the Muggle diner. The waitress wanted to approach them and offer help, but he looked at her in such a way that the girl changed her mind.

"This is you, Granger, idiot, if you expect that you can escape with Zabini." - The blond again turned to Hermione and caught a look of loathing.

"I don't ..." From such a statement right in the forehead, she set aside a cup of coffee and turned bright red considerably from anger. - "You know, Malfoy, I ..."

He jumped up sharply, nearly knocking over a mug, and leaned his elbows on the table so that the distance between their faces was equal to several centimeters, the sugar crumbs stuck into their elbows. Hermione did not even move.

"Well, it's not a discussion, Granger. I've said all I've needed to say. Everything will be done as I need. Remember this with your tiny brain. More precisely, with its remnants."

Under the table, she bumped into his leg and with a whole dope hit her heel on his knee. A smile spread across her face and drove Malfoy into a rage. The pain in his leg pierced his whole body, and he squeezed the edge of the table with his fingers, sitting back into place.

"I can't afford that luxury. First you need to kill such a pain in the ass, like me."

Zabini cleared his throat, making it clear that he was sick of listening to this and, getting up from the table to thank the waiter for the delicious coffee, went out in the pouring rain.

"We are fucking sick of you, Granger."

Hastily, she followed Blaise's example, and having covered with her wrinkled cloak, also headed for the exit, without another word, ready to put her body into the arms of the cold.

Already touching the door handle, she felt hands on her shoulders, dragging her cloak off her. Stopping on the spot, she did not even bother to turn around. The raincoat fell under feet, a very weighty black coat appeared on the shoulders , smelling of sandalwood perfume and dampness.

Malfoy spun the girl around and raised the collar, which covered almost half of her face. It looked like a courtship for a little child.

She wanted to object.

"I don't need you to get sick." - He raised her cloak and, threw it on the next chair, left the coffee shop, defiantly politely holding the door. - "Do not be under any illusions This is not a concern. Breathless, you will be useless to me."

She tugged her coat more tightly and went out into the street as quickly as possible, in fear that he would hit her with the door.

Zabini raised his eyes to heaven and asked the world for patience.

\\\\\

Ginny did not come down to breakfast, lunch was also unnecessary for her.

Neville feared that it was he who was the object of her unwillingness to stay somewhere other than her bedroom, and was almost going to say that he would leave soon.

Luna looked out the window for hours, as if her old acquaintance was about to come.

But over time, Neville realized that she was just expecting to see the sun, which, it seemed, could only be seen in the paintings that generously decorate the living room. Pathetic proof that, as before, it will never be even with the weather.

There was a knock at the door, despite the fact that it was not locked, no one tried to enter. Luna jumped up from the place, rushing to the door, but George shushed her and held her hand.

Neville did not even bother to look at who would enter, but simply, with his head thrown back in the chair, stared at the ceiling, nonchalant.

When the door finally opened, George caught the cold air, and then the deadly horror. On the threshold, in the distance a little less than an outstretched hand, stood the late Hermione, wrapped in an incredibly large coat and with a pale, pale face, which is quite explainable: she is a corpse.

"Ger ..." the red-haired guy choked and, taking a huge step back, squeezed his eyes, hoping to scare away the nightmare, - "Hermione."  
The silence in the room has now become impenetrable; it seems that the membranes will bleed out if someone doesn't say anything now.

The girl entered the house and, looking back at the open door, slammed it shut.

Luna opened her mouth for about fifteen seconds, tried to say something, but, realizing that it was useless, closed it.

Neville rose from his chair and, turning around to face the guest, choked on the odd air that had got into his lungs.

"Guys, it's me. Really."

She, with disobedient cold fingers, threw off Malfoy's coat and threw it on the mezzanine. It was dangerous to be here without a wand, because in principle everyone considers her deceased, which means there may be obvious problems.

Luna ran up to the girl and, touching her hand, carefully watched, as if the palm had to pass through Hermione's body, as in the case with the usual ghost.

"Since when did you begin to believe what is written in the newspapers? " - she tried to smile, anticipating a thousand questions.

George came to her and pressed her against him with such force that her spine seemed to crunch, but it was the sweetest pain she had ever felt. She hugged him back.

Ginny came down the stairs barely audibly and, squinting, tried to make out what kind of guest George had welcomed, finally, showing feelings of joy. She couldn't remember at all when she last saw her brother like that.  
The girl stood as the most expensive exhibit in the museum, she was surrounded by a crowd that looked at her, admired, rejoiced, cried, and all this every minute, without time to rest. It seemed to them that if they step back just a little bit now, then it would crumble like a desired illusion.

Ginny literally glowed from the inside with incredible happiness. Hermione began to ask for forgiveness from everyone, with the inherent fervor scolding herself, promising to do everything in her power to keep the closest people alive. This moment was perfect but the door opened, and Malfoy was here about to ruin the moment. Apparently, that Granger locked the door did not stop the new visitors.

Hermione didn't even turn to those who had entered, as she felt a sharp look in the back of her head and how her friends' faces hardened.

"This is an immensely touching etude, but someone forgot about the time, right, Granger?" Malfoy stepped between her and her dumbfounded friends, without even looking at them.

"We really have to go," Zabini understood the irrelevance of his presence, but their silence was crushing. He wanted to leave as soon as possible, he had fulfilled his part of the contract.

"What do you mean it's time?" - Ginny flew forward and turned for some reason not to Malfoy, who was standing imperiously near her friend, but to Zabini.

"This is a deal."

"Whose deal? You are crazy. You think we will let her go with ..." - George put his hand on his sister's shoulder and tried to calm her down, but one glance was enough for him to be afraid of this fierce girl more than two death eaters standing nearby.

"Our fucking deal," Malfoy spoke with Ginny, but was still looking at Granger.

He became bored with each subsequent minute. He also noticed that Hermione was scared to look at Ginny and, following her gaze, he dug into the thing that was hanging on Ginny's skinny neck.

"She's not going anywhere!"

Granger grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and shook her head. Don't you dare, her eyes said.

 _If only nobody noticed, if only._

Everyone stared at her hand and how she touched this death eater, clinging as surely as if it was a common thing.

"Enough!" Hermione snapped a shriek at everyone.

The three disputants were silent. Neville pulled out his wand, and George pushed Luna into the depths of the room.

"Hermione, what is enough? Are you going with them?" Ginny breathed loudly and stared at her friend in dismay.

"Thanks to them, I'm still alive."

"But they ... He killed your are out of your mind, dear!"

Granger felt a punch right in her own heart. What she tried to erase from her memory was safely reappeared down with one phrase.

"I think she is aware of the current situation," Malfoy strained every word, not looking away from the girl in the black dress that was not the right size. Her nails dug through the fabric of his jacket, right in his wrist

 _And what should she say now? Yes, Ginny, I sleep with Malfoy, but not together, but in the same house. I eat with him, breathe with him, take a shower in his bathroom, and we also almost began to talk heart to heart._ Hermione's mind got tangled up, and she was silent, how long she was silent she didn't know. In this silence, her friends could clearly understand that in some sense she was a traitor.

Then she wanted to tell them about Malfoy's plan. About which she herself knew nothing. The stone and the timeturner, the damn silent bastard hadn't even explained anything to her, and she believed him. Because there is nobody else to believe in. Zabini's authoritative opinion, which had previously been an empty sound for her, also inspired some hope. But they can't understand, they will not understand anything.

Ginny looked at her in silence, expecting at least some reaction, but in vain.

"What are you doing? Are you with them now?"

"Ginny, don't talk such nonsense" George decided to shut up his sister at any cost, who had lost all sense of reality.

"Leave me alone, George! Just look at them." - The girl was seething with anger. "His parents bullied her. They would rather bite their hands off, than breathe some air with ... with MUDBLOOD!"

"Stop it. Listen, stop it!" Neville grabbed her by the elbows and dragged her back so she couldnt't kill Granger."

"Let me go! How do you live with them, Granger ?! You betrayed Harry! You betrayed us! How could you!" - her screams were already reminiscent of hysteria, and tears washed her face with unprecedented speed.

"Ginny, listen ... I'm not ..."

"No, you'll listen to me. He will kill you too, he will turn you dead after you will have served his purpose. And then he and his vile parents will mock your body."

"Stop it!" - Hermione wasn't looking at Malfoy, but she understood what it was hardly pleasant for him to listen.

"Kill them, Hermione. Kill before they kill you, until they kill us all. What are you waiting for? His bastard father must die."

She turned to Malfoy and saw his hand reaching for the wand, and then Granger realized that she was losing control of the situation.

Neville lifted Ginny up in his arms and carried her up the stairs while she beat him on the back and asked him to let go, shouting death wishes to the Malfoy's parents, how she would kill his mother and what he had defiled her friend. When the screams subsided, it became even worse. No one dared to speak, no one was going to leave, more precisely, Malfoy was not going to.  
With uncertain steps, she was beside him, trying not to think what he could feel, her hand grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the terrace. Surprisingly, he silently followed her, without even pushing his hands away.

"Malfoy, we can leave now," she noticed, as his fingers gripped the railing tightly and added, "if you want."

He sighed nervously and stared tensely into the distance, as if mentally walking away from her.

"Please. I didn't think that everything would be like this, you should not ... should not have entered. You see ..."

 _What am I doing? I apologize to him, looking for excuses. Because he personally killed Ginny's brother or because she did not praise him for it?_

"Do you know how to think?"

He said this after a long silence, so abruptly that she did not immediately understand who he was referring to.

"Enough. Do you think everyone must love you? For what? Why should she think about you even a little good?"

"Is that why you here?" - he was shaking but not only from the cold.

"I …"  
"It's not that your society is unpleasant for me, Miss Granger," he slowly closed his eyes and sighed, as if distracting himself from the desire to tear off her head and smash it against a concrete wall. "But could you deprive me of your nasty voice. And the whole nasty self, entirely."

"What do you want?!" - she was about to scream, but stopped herself just in time and added. - "Yes, I am sorry that she said so about your parents. If she only knew, she ..."

"I want you to leave me."

"I can't. I don't care how you feel. It's important for me to make sure you don't kill anyone in this state."

She was not sure who exactly she was trying to convince of her indifference: him or herself. How she wanted to know what was in his mind at the moment.

"You don't understand, Granger, this is too much even for me. I am not as dead as you think," - he closed his eyes and said more to himself. "If you don't shut this bitch down now, no one will hear her again."

With the unwillingness her fingers touched his shoulder and barely perceptibly squeezed it. It felt like he flinched. They stood like this for a few seconds, her hand became numb, but she did not dare to remove it. Then Draco slowly turned to her, and she had to shrink back to the side, lowering eyes to the floor, and then looking at him again.

They stared at each other's eyes, and felt how scary one was, and how hurt the other . But then he blinked, and his gaze became as indifferent as ever. Inside him there is such an unknown switch, from which the emotions change with the speed of light, and it frightened her.

"You know."

To be the first to break the silence seemed unreal, and he did it for her. Hermione wanted to turn around and see if her friends were looking at her into a huge window.

"I don't know anything anymore," he grinned, and then again made an impenetrable face. Frightening face.

"If I were you, I would have taken the advice of this Weasley. And as now - you are just a fool."

He grimaced, over all his posture was read extreme fatigue of her society. 

They walk along a long road lavishly lined with lanterns, none of which work. The distance between them is comparable to the width of the asphalt.

"I did not think it would be so."

"I don't give a shit, honestly. Let's talk about the timeturner on the neck of your nervous bitch. When will you take it?"

"How could this have happened ..." Granger did not listen to him at all, but rather talked with a very interesting interlocutor, with herself.

"What happened is normal."

"Normal?"

"In their place, I would watch how fun you are roasting in the fireplace. But no, they even listen to you, try to understand. You know, sometimes it seems to me, that to each of them Potter shat in brains."

"Ginny, she's not so ... she's kind."

 _Why do we even talk about it? Who am i to her? Why listen and try to support? Support? Go ahead, Granger, head over heels to your horrible hell._

"Yes, yes, yes, I thought so," Malfoy nodded animatedly. "Listen, did she get so cute before or after she had fucked Potter, or maybe in time? If so, then I am even ready to understand and forgive her."

With her eyes she noticed a beautiful cobblestone, which she wanted to throw into his temple. Then they walked in silence.

"They think that we are ..." By this she destroyed the foggy silence of the whole street.

"What?"

"What you and me ..."

"What?" - he stumbled over a stone and swore silently.

"What we fuck, Malfoy!" - He stood up in indescribable delight.  
 _Wow, Granger, you learn quickly._

"You saw Ginny's face. Yes, she looked at me, as if I had not lived all this time with my mother and father, but was the last whore."

" And to what extent did sleep with me become humiliation?"

Finally, he looked at her. Shivered from the cold, in a huge coat, sleeves hid her hands to the very tips of her fingers. Tangled hair in which you can hide a dead owl. Rather, he should regret that he is supposedly able to go to bed with a similar miss.

"Yes."

"What "yes?"

"Every your word - yes."

"So you think I'm nasty?"

She looked at him incredulously, but at such a distance, thank God, there is no visible emotion in her eyes. If only she had seen his rage, then she would have long since fallen into a ditch nearby.

"No, really, do you think that I am not capable of pleasing a girl without her being disgusting of it? Are you describing the portrait of Potter to me now?"

"Stop it."  
Her step sped up. Full escape from idle talk and the desire to cross out this unpleasant day from her head. Although Malfoy will make every effort to not ...

He stopped halfway to the house and blocked her way, standing across. So unexpectedly and fast that Granger almost crashed into him but then tried to leave out as soon as possible.

Malfoy grabbed her by the shoulders and placed her in front of him, specially too rough, that there would be bruises on her skin again, now her eternal companions.

"No. I will not stop."

"I am tired and want to go home. You can stand here alone." - Hermione wanted to step aside, wanted to leave immediately.

It was cold, drizzling light rain. Her legs were numb due to getting wet, her lips didn't move at all, but how Hermione wanted to say nasty things to him. Interestingly, her nose still in place or died out? A clear feeling that it will now fall off.

 _Well, what do you want from me? I already feel like an idiot._

"Do you think Parkinson cheated on me because I'm cold? Nauseous?"

"No."  
He looked at her carefully, like a lie detector, penetrating into her head.

"No?"

"God, yes. I think that way. Well, and partly because she is not able to sleep with less than three men at the same time."

"This is not true ..." - he pursed his lips and scrolled through her words in his head. Rage, penetrating the body like mercury, spread with enviable speed.

 _So I'm cold? Insensible shard. Thank you for your irrelevant opinion, Granger._

His lips touch her lower lip gently, but insistently making it clear that this is not an accidental touch, but an intentional threat. He is closely watching her face, having forgotten how to blink. A slight attack of nausea rises to the throat, and both have it. But neither one nor the other is trying to increase the distance between them.

"Well, Granger, after this you might throw up," every word to her lips.

Her ears ached from the cold, her face is numb, her fingers numb and became strangers. She rested her palms on his chest, and for some reason the naughty fingers squeezed his shirt, and then just froze like stone.

Some centimeters remained between the faces. Such a distance has always seemed insurmountable, incorrect.

"And you?"

Gray eyes changed color again, looking inside her. He smelled of rain, gunpowder, and something temptingly forbidden. Something broke inside her.

"You are especially disgusting to me, especially today, now ..."

How rudely, to say such a thing straight in the eye, she stubbornly did not look away, specifically leaning even closer. Tip-toing, Hermione caught up with him at least a little, and, after a while, dug her lips into his. At this point, the last sensible thought knocked out of her head.

She ran the tip of her tongue over his lower lip, feeling that he was just petrified. The complete feeling of being able to take him by surprise, to do something, after which he would then hate himself, and maybe she herself ... it seems, already.

His hands didn't touch her, he stood still and, somewhat embarrassed, answered the kiss. They kiss, as if weakly arguing to each other, proving that each one is right. Doubtful evidence.

The sensation of his language in her mouth gives bright feelings, but all this has the taste of a shameful act that she for some reason is not going to stop, not having strength in her legs, lips, hands. As if he is not a Death Eater, but a dementor who sucks everything he finds through her treacherous mouth. And she gives and gives to the last drop.

Then he pulled back, without opening his eyes, Malfoy simply froze and clenched his fingers into fists.

"Damn ... what are you ... damn ..."

Despair rolled over her, she wanted to scream, howl and sob from powerlessness. More worried why he doesn't wipe his mouth. It would be much easier if he vomited now, for example.

 _Why, why have I done it?_ She covered her mouth and stepped back.

"Why have you done this?" He asked, breathing heavily.

Her heart pounded, crushing her ribs to dust, she straightened. She looked around and rushed towards the house so fast that the snitch would even envy. Past the silent Malfoy, past houses in which no light, past stones and puddles,sometimes she stumbled over , but kept running ... Escape from her stupid head.

Malfoy did not stop her, as he preferred to be left alone, at least not with her. And wanted to wash his mouth, brush the teeth and, possibly, clean the lips too.


	13. Chapter 13

Malfoy barely slept, all the thoughts and feelings all feelings and thoughts escalated to the limit and tortured him with an obsessive cruelty. At two o'clock in the night, he rose from his bed and decided to go down to the kitchen to drink coffee or something stronger.

Every minute pictures of the past evening appeared in the head. He wanted to pull his brains out and understand how he was capable of such things.

Draco barely resisted not to enter in her bedroom ( although all the bedrooms here are his, damn it), grab Granger by the throat, pin to the wall and demand to take her kiss back.

The light made him blink, and he had to squint and cover his face with his hand. If Henry's out there, he should get out, Draco needs to be alone. Oh no, it's just Granger spreading her filth.

The girl poured something into her mug, it was already more interesting than to meet the house elf in the middle of the night for dishwashing, for example.

"Granger, do you ever sleep?"

She started and looked over her shoulder at him. Her hair was pinned back with a green comb and there were purple circles under her eyes from crying and insomnia.

"What's the matter, do I bother you?"

"You're not, but your breathing is straining."

"Just break my neck, what's the problem?"

Her fingers reached for the ice and gently dipped it into the water, her skin was wet and her body was shaking.

"You're sick, I think," he said casually, and sat down on the counter, reaching for his plate of fruit.

"It is strange, after such lovely weather. This is almost nonsense."

"You might want to keep some of that biting wit for yourself, trust me." He threw the apple to the ceiling and caught it deftly.

"Is that all you have to say? Can I drink some water and leave?"

"No."

"And what do you allow, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione heard him take a bite of the Apple and added. - "I wish you a nice choke"

The blond man jumped down from the table and rubbed his hand over the wet surface on which the ice was dripping from Granger's hands.

"Kiss me, sweetheart."

How it infuriated him that she spoke to him so calmly, his irritation growing like mold, with terrible speed.

"WH-what?"!

"Well, I thought it was normal now. You can end any conversation in someone's mouth."

He came to her and stared at the green barrette, he liked it more than the owner of the tangled hair

"I can punch you in the face. Want? "

She could feel his breath on her back, steady and deep, so close that the exhaled air touched her neck, only now she wished she hadn't pinned her hair. The warmth of his body was like a panic attack.

"How long have you been without a man? A year, two? Have you ever slept with anyone?"

Her hand found the knife in the half-open tabletop and squeezed it until her fingers crunched. He put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her back against him.

"There's something wrong with your face." His lips brushed the tip of her reddened ear, deliberately making her uncomfortable, more and more by the second.

"What?"

"I think it's going to crack with bile."

She pulled out her knife and, throwing off his hand, turned to face him. Tired eyes looked into doomed eyes. War.

"Get away from me."

She raised the knife to the level of his face and almost touched the tip of his lips.

 _Please…_

"Are you trying to dismember me?" He squinted at the knife, then looked into her eyes. He ran the tip of his tongue along the point, barely touching the sharpened metal. An unhealthy smile touched his lips.

"I want". Her voice, her hands, and her whole body trembled treacherously.

"You can kill me, it will not be easy for you to go through it, my secluded body will begin to pursue you. I kill, I know"

He cupped her wrist and pressed his thumb lightly over the blue veins in her arm. The knife dropped to the floor, its point buried in the parquet.

"Do you really think I would ask that?"

She looked at him blankly, then studied the ceiling.

"I'm not that perverted." All right. You're afraid of me."

"No"

"You're afraid, I can feel Granger I knew wasn't afraid of anything. You're pathetic."

"Pathetic," she repeated weakly, and turned away.

Long fingers gripped her chin a little too tightly and turned her face back.

The look on her lips and the scrutiny, waiting for something, for a word. The same thing happened on her part, and the realization that she was truly pathetic popped into her head.

A slow eye-to-eye look and an impenetrable face in response. They looked silently at each other. Not sure she understood what the death eater might be thinking in such close proximity to the Mudblood, she silently hypnotized him _. Don't look, don't kiss, don't remember. I'm scared._

He took a step back and hit the back of a chair, which nearly fell to the floor.

"You disgust me."

 _No good night, no forgive me for being an asshole, no horrific harassment. It's so easy for him to say nasty things and withdraw._

 _Damn you, Malfoy, damn you._

Malfoy has awakened in his bedroom, it was just after five o'clock, and he had a crappy thought: would he die on this unnecessary morning, or would alcohol not kill him? It was as if long nails had been driven into his head on either side of his temples and turned every second, at every opportunity, the feeling that he had been badly bruised and thrown off the high-rise that night. He felt a sudden curiosity: _if Voldemort found out about the living Granger, would he feel the same way? Or just die without experiencing anything else. Invitingly._

 _I'll tell him at Breakfast when I realize that life has become unbearably painful. Can it hurt more?_

His mouth was dry, the foul taste made it difficult to swallow, and his tongue was numb. His eyes slowly closed and he listened. Is there someone behind the wall?

 _I wonder if you're asleep?" Or banging your head against the headboard? Beat. Or I'll do it._

Absolute silence.

He was tired of Zabini's taunts about the nervous confusion, as Draco has been living side by side with Granger for almost twenty-four hours. As soon as he did something he'd always liked to do with women, it would end badly, blaze's voice said. The ability to think logically was slipping away, and he had clung to it for the last five minutes, in vain. Zabini would Shine like a Patronus if he knew he was right.

Malfoy sat on the edge of the bed, touching the icy floor with his feet and slowly rose to his feet. It was a heroic ordeal to reach the glass of water on the windowsill. The smell of unwashed body, alcohol and cigarettes tactlessly reminded him that he had made a mistake yesterday.

Draco touched the curtains, pushing the fabric aside with two fingers, and tried to figure out if anyone else had woken up this early, or if Malfoy was an exception today. As he measured the distance from the window to the asphalt, he suddenly remembered Granger.

 _If she went out the window? He wonders if she dared._

No sooner had the thought reached its logical conclusion as he suddenly realized that he was sick. Surprisingly quickly managed to run on limp legs in bathroom. He vomited twice, three times. The feeling of complete shit in life came with each subsequent reflex cough. His throat burned with pain.

With trembling hands he grasped the edge of the sink and struggled upright. Turning on the shower, Malfoy stepped under the flow of water right in clothes. He leaned back against the cold tile and tried to undress. However, the fingers did not unfasten the belt with the first try, pants fell to the bottom of the tub. Then he pulled off his shirt, selectively pulling out the buttons. The water revived him for a good fifteen minutes. The hope that it would pour into his ears and wash his head of yesterday's rubbish was fading.

When he came out of the bathroom, he nodded to Henry, who left without another word to gather his wet clothes so that no one would see the rush.

NO one, Granger. Granger — is NO one, the evil smile was about to appear on the face, but the headache captured still and mimic memory.

A perfectly pressed white shirt and jeans warmed his damp body as he took the elf's coffee from the tray. More or less recovered from the second mug of hot drink, he looked at the open, battered envelope that had been waiting for him for twelve hours.

With a practiced gesture, he took the letter out of the envelope with his left hand, still unwilling to say goodbye to his coffee mug, and unfolded the parchment. Malfoy looked at the paper, torn by time and beautiful female handwriting.

Dear Draco.

I don't want to think about when you read this letter. I hope you don't have to read it at all. I often panic. Lucius laughs at me, but I see that my premonition resonates with his fears, too.

He ran his gaze as far down as he could, so as not to disturb his memory of the family, and settled on the Essentials.

If we die and you stay alone, we know perfectly what life awaits you. I know you, honey. I fear for you. I am your mother, and I want you to live. Don't you dare…

You know what I mean. If it happens again, you will kill my soul, which is now behind your back, holding the hand on your shoulder.

Harry Potter had... You need a stone that allows you to communicate with dead people for a while, but not to talk to me.

Potter is dead, nothing can be fixed. Time is getting deader by the second.

You will need a timeturner, which is able to return us to the recent past, in those moments when time has not yet exhausted its possibilities.

These two things can help you. You must live and fight.

Your father and I love you.

I, your mother, love you.

To my beloved son.

She wrote so often and said, I, your mother, I love you, that there was a clear certainty that she was afraid he would forget it when she was gone. But he wouldn't forget. He'll hurt himself, but he won't forget.

With a deft movement of his fingers, Draco slipped the letter back into the envelope and laid it on the table. The last time he had touched the parchment was when he had thought that he wanted to end this life. If Zabini was right, and his mother had written it only to prolong his heartbeat, she was the cruellest woman in the world. He wouldn't forgive her.

Someone to see you, Mr. Malfoy – said Henry. Not today, the only thing he could think of, and left the room, throwing a glance at the letter.

Granger got out of bed and washed her face in icy water. The door to the adjoining room was not locked, and she looked to see, if Malfoy was still sleeping, but the bed was empty.

Entering the forbidden room number one, she was confronted by Henry, who was carefully making the bed and smiling at her. It was as if she had lived here for a long time, and everyone was used to her presence, though Henry was glad to see her.

The elf bowed and walked around the girl, leaving the room. Her thin fingers brushed the white wall, she looked around, the bed was made of black silk linen, his shoes were on the floor. She was holding the neatly folded coat she wanted to hand over.

 _It was even better that he wasn't there_

Granger went to a chair to leave the coat in the room. There was an envelope on the edge of the table, torn on one side and badly crumpled, and she glanced at it and saw who it was for.

Ask later, and she won't remember how it came to be in her hands, how it was drawn to her fingers like a magnet and opened. Her eyes drank in the letters, the beautiful handwriting was easy to read, and the paper smelled of feminine perfume.

With each completed sentence, she wanted to put the letter away, but she couldn't stop. Precisely now comes understanding of Malfoy's obsession with idea of timeturner.

Engrossed in her reading, Hermione didn't notice the door open. Turning and hiding the letter behind her back, the girl saw, that Malfoy stands in doorway, squeezing the bronze handle with such force, that it can break off. He looked as if he had been standing there since the beginning of her reading, or at least he was staring at her.

There was nothing positive or even indifferent about his expression.

" Interesting, isn't it?"

"Sorry. I came… She pointed to his coat, but he didn't even look at it."

Heading straight for her, Draco snatched the letter from her hand and threw it on the floor.

"Are you interested in _messing around with my life_?" He was shaking. His jaw clenched as if his teeth were grinding words into dust. She was silent, pressing her hips against the edge of the table, one hand outstretched, hoping to shield him from her.

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed with such force that her skin almost ignited. She looked at his hand and then into his eyes.

"Let go. "

"This is my life, do you hear me? I don't want you to touch it with your" — he opened his fingers and his hand dropped limply to his side — "Understand?!"

"Malfoy, you tried to do something with yourself? You don't think it's a letter, just… "

"Shut up, I said shut up!" he shouted in her face and, seizing the envelope, tore it into small pieces.

"I just think Narcissa might have given you hope."…

"Shove your guesses you know where" he cleared his throat and tossed the scraps of the envelope in her face.

"Let me go," she muttered.

"Like hell." He almost raised his fist in the air, but he turned away and slammed it into the wall, leaving a trail of knuckles, a faint trail of blood.

How difficult it is to convince yourself to be confident and fearless. How many times had she seen him when he was calm, deadly indifferent. Now it's hard to believe, but this Malfoy was much more attractive from the point of view of mortal danger.

Draco kicked the chair next to him, and it fell to the floor with the coat carefully placed on it. Then a white vase with blue inscriptions was throwed. Annoyance was evident in all his behavior, in his eyes, voice, movements of hands, he did not even try to suppress the rage, hide or at least try, on the contrary, actively demonstrated his discontent in front of her, undisguised and loud. She was plunged into the sticky muck of fear, how deeply she had hurt him with her antics. He is strong, he has magic, and she has only a piece of torn paper in her hands, which the guy looks at as a piece of his own heart, which she tore out without asking and touches.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, do you hear me? If you'd read my mother's letters, I'd probably have killed you."

 _It's time to talk about the murders, Granger. The perfect timing._ She wanted to punch herself.

It became so quiet that she heard the screaming of his own thoughts, heartbeat. It became more difficult to find words, he did not react in any way, so the appeal was more to herself.

"You you are afraid, Malfoy, it's okay to fear". – He didn't turn, so she had to to speak with his back. — "I feel life, real life, has left us. Remained somewhere in the distance."

Why was he mad at her now? Because of the letter or a kiss, that kept him up all night? If now stop all this and kiss this damned mouth, then taste of her will spread of and it will kill him. He would never think about it again. Never.

"You mean behind," he said, suddenly and turned his head to look at her. As if for the first time of their communication, Malfoy sensed, that can speak not with crazy, but with past Granger, whom perhaps, he really respected.

To steady herself, she took a deep breath and tried to drown out her heartbeat with the thump of her fingers on the table. Granger was frightened by his shouting and broken voice, impossible to focus, come up with a justification even harder. Malfoy remained silent, staring at her darkly. A clear sense of something to say, something full of sympathy and apology. Well, Yes, and he'll tear up the rest of the room again. Need to think of something. Self-control was the last thing holding him back.

"Do you have letters from your mother?" he didn't know why he'd asked her that question.

"Yes, there were several. They stayed…"

"Your house is sealed, if that's what you what, what did she write to you?"

" I doubt she had a plan to save the Wizarding world. She's just, just…"

"Well, Hermione Granger. You took my personal life, so give me a piece of yours."

He said her name with his hoarse voice, her name in his voice... it was so strange, even terrible. Both were tense.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

" More crazy than I'm used to seeing you? Doubt."

"My mother sent me the lyrics of children's songs."

"What?"

"I told you you'd think about it…"

"No, no, I want to know. And what songs?" His fist loosened and his back straightened, and he was facing her now.

 _You better not turn around._

"All the songs she used to sing to me when I was a kid. When I was bad, I remember them, and it becomes a bit better. Like a fortune cookie"

"What?"

"You don't know?"

"From where?" his theatrical surprise betrayed annoyance, but for some reason he questioned her anyway.

"This is my favorite . When you have no mood, you have to eat them and…"

"I need a carriage of these just to deal with you, and I hate sweet things"

"So she sent it to me. It's magic without magic."

"You're crazy, and your mother too…"

He paused for a moment, as if he had punched himself in the gut with the phrase. Granger looked up at him, expecting him to see silent reproach or habitual hatred, but only found sadness. His mouth was tight, ready to apologize now, not just with a word, but with a triad of words, to turn himself inside out like a suicide with nothing left to lose.

Granger looked him up and down, trying to show that fear was something she didn't recognize. She walked slowly past him and sat down on his bed, two pillows tucked under her back, the only thing that didn't fly into the wall of the room. The tension was pressing on her, not letting her relax even for a minute. Suddenly he picked up the letter from the floor and, clutching it with his fingers, took a few steps toward her. Instinctively she drew her legs up to her, resting her chin on her knees as if to protect herself from him.

His gaze was different, his rage gone, leaving remorse.

"Forget it, Granger" — he said quietly. — "I swear I won't let you see me like this again. Never. "

"You tried to kill yourself?"

"I don't want to talk about it, not now. I eat, I sleep, I drink, I let you fuck my brains just so you could fuck something, and accordingly I'm alive."

All this he said without any emotion at all. Sometimes she had a clear certainty of his inability to feel. Protecting yourself from the inside out, Draco didn't want to think and relive everything so they could not to hurt him more. Everything in the letter was true, the silent cry of a mother cannot lie. But trust him…

"Malfoy, my life depends on you, and I must know…"

"My room is the best place to discuss it." Do you want me to go to bed with you? Do you want me to fuck you? Usually the women in my bed don't ask questions."

Only now did she realize that she was sitting on the silk bedclothes, and her cheeks flushed as she imagined what had happened on that bed before she came into the house.

"How do I know you won't kill yourself tomorrow?" If you get tired of it. If your mother deceived you. Malfoy!"

"Thank you for your confidence in me."

"I asked a question."

"You didn't ask the question." He looked at her as if she were insane and mentally told her to go to hell for the eleventh time.

 _I wonder if she'll move out or just sit there?_

"I'm not going anywhere until you answer."

Granger glared at him. It didn't help though.

"Then I'll leave" - Picking up a couple of books from the floor and placing them on the table, he gave her a fleeting look of irony.

"As I thought " — catching his eyes, Hermione expressed high contempt and unwillingness to say a word.

"What is IT?" he mimicked her and wrinkled his nose.

—"If you don't deny it, then you're a suicidal man who's lost his mind. Does Zabini know?"

"What exactly?"

"That he believes in a man who would jump off a high-rise in any case?" - Malfoy recoiled, as if she hit his in face.

"I'd rather drown myself."

"What?"

"I hate this conversation"

— What I'm supposed to say?"

"Goodbye, Malfoy, I've decided to hang on to your beautiful chandelier."

A look full of doom and contempt. It is now that she seems to have broken any respect for herself.

Malfoy spun around and kicking underfoot books, went to the door. His fingers were clenched and his head was bowed.

"Forgive me." She whispered to him, to his back.

He turned, looking at her with cold fury, then walked out, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
